LIBRARY OF CONGRESS^ 



Shelf..... 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








'^UlJ^^^/^^^^;^^^^' 



MISGELLANEOUS POEMS 

. li:n^us townsend. 

IN TWO VOLUMES. 
STEREOTYPE EDITION. 



-I — 5) -^ 



"VOLTJIIVCE] I. 



EXPLANATORY NOTES FOUND AT END OF BOOK, 

• — ^>|-4 — 0^0 — 4-^-<*^ — 

INDEX APPENDED. 



PUBLISHED BY 

LINUS TOWNSEND, 
APOLLO, PA. 

Printed and Stereotyped by\^ ^ M0..,^.4f^4-9O^ 

Paul F. Voight, Natrona/ 'f^a^^i-^1^'^ 



•4i-DEDIGJl1'lOrl.-H^ 

- m^ 



76 3^»t 

7s 



This work I dedicate to 1113^ chosen companion ; to her who 
has accompanied me assiduously and devotedly through this drea- 
r}^ vale of life participating with me in prosperity and condoling 
Avith me in adversity ; dividing equally my transitory volatile 
moments of happiness, and, eleviating with her kind and consid- 
erate hand the burden of my woes : and now, as the screen is 
about to drop and close out this grand arena of life, I hope we 
shall pass together through the mysterious transition of time to 
eternity, and there, upon that .glorious plain made light by a 
sun that never sets, unseparably roam as congenial spirits 
of affinity the endless day — a da^y which is never darkened by 
the gloom of night, and unknown to care and sorrow; with in- 
creased capacities and enlarged intelligence. There Ave Avill be 
enabled more full}^ to contemplate and appreciate in the immedi- 
ate presence of omniscience, the grand, glorious and sublimely 
transporting scene. 




^ipll'l^ODlfC^IOpl.-*- 



In offering this unpretentious volume, as an addition to tlie 
current literature of the day, the Author is conscious of the temer- 
ity of the act. In entering the classic precincts, he feels as though 
about t6 step, it might well be said: "Where angels fear to 
tread." The literary arena is strewn with the wrecks of scar- 
rified victims, whose boldness outran their discretion, and the 
writer, in entering, has some of the same sort of dread and appre- 
hension that he imagines filled the breasts of the victims of the bar- 
baric pastime of ancient Rome, when about to enter the theatre of 
deadly strife. The ramparts of literature are massive ; the gates 
colossal ; its garrison impervious, and its sentinels ever alert, with 
spear and javelin to pierce the armor of the adventurous knight 
who essays to enter. AVhile the Author is conscious that he is 
illy fitted by preparatory training, in classics or science, to cope 
with the literary giants of the time, he yet hopes that on an hum- 
bler field he n ty earn the tribute of the faithful soldier who has 
done his best/ While he may not snatch laurels from the moun- 
tain top ; he Jiay pluck flowers from the wayside. He feels, how- 
ever, that w' thout egotism, he can say that the reader will find 
in his little "i ook none of the current slang of the day, which has 
contaminate 1 more pretentious literature, and that his book while 
simple, will yet be pure, and if it do no good, will at least do no 
harm. The tendancy of the times is to frivolity in writing. 



With shame we record that the shelves that formerly held the 
masterpieces of Paly and Dick, now hold the sensational squibs of 
Ingersoll. The ten cent novel reclines complacently in the sha- 
dow of Rollins, and silly romances in gandy cover are thought 
worthy to share the space with historic Irwin and Bancroft. The 
Author, born and raised amid the rugged hills of Western Penn- 
sylvania, an observer and lover of nature from necessity as well 
as impulse, an invalid in his childhood years, amid such surroun- 
dings as call out the noblest instincts of the human mind, became 
deeply impressed with the poetic temperament that so often fills 
the humble child of nature. His little volume is not a bid for 
fame. The siren's voice has long since lost its charms, and the 
enchanting music that once thrilled his soul has vanished with 
his youth. If a sentiment simply expressed ; if a fancy touching- 
ly pictured ; if a pure thought fitly spoken and an emotion ten- 
derly portrayed may wake responsive echoes in any heart, then 
the Author's wish is accomplished, and he can truly feel his work 
is well, if humbly done. 

In conclusion, he might say, that each simple song was suggest- 
ed by some incident, or experience in the life of the writer, and 
the sentiments in each were called forth by a corresponding emo- 
tion in the breast of the Author. Whatever fault in grammatical 
construction, or violation of the rules of syntax may appear in 
the work, will be readily condoned by the kindly reader, who has 
the cause already intimated — the Author's ur fortunate invalid 
condition during childhood, which not only pre\ Bnted his receiv- 
ing the rudimentary elements of a common schoo' education, but 
happily was the means of throwing him on his .^wn resources, 
thereby enabling him to produce the matter of his Sv ngs, untram- 
meled with artificial aids, which he submits is mo *e important 
than their manner of construction. An Appendix w) 11 state brief- 
ly the history of many of the poems, giving the facts ( hat brought 
them forth, and such other information as the Autho: thinks will 
£iid in their intelMgent understanding. 



OEIGimjEMS, 



Oh I thou little waif, why didst thou, 
In this cold world seek a home; 

And so far from fields elysian, 
Didst thy gentle spirit roam? 

Why d it thou come, sweet messenger, 

To this far off distant land ; 
And leave those paradisean plains — 

That happy spirit land? 

Did a kind Omniscience send thee 

On this lonely journey far; 
To bless : oh bright intelligence, 

This lone, dark, distant star? 

A journey of exceeding length. 

Most sublimely to survey ; 
But protected by seraphic care 

Thou hast found thy way. 

How canst thou make a home, 

Of one thats filled with care. 
And dispel a thickening gloom 

That's lined with mute despair ? 

Why didst thou leave those flowery plains 
For one where thistles grow ; 

One that echoed arcadian strains 
For one attuned to woe? 

Thy little harp now hangs unstrung, 
On the fadeless willows there, 

And thy spirit songs remain unsung, 
Where the heavenly choirs are. 



Look down into the grave ! 

Behold the sleeping dead ! 
How calm and sweet they slumber, 

On their cold and silent bed ! 
Mark ! the eyelids firmly closed, 

Beneath's the sightless eye, 
And the breast has ceased forever. 

To heave the gentle sigh. 

Those lips are closed and silent 

The tongue has ceased to speak, 
A deadlier pallor now succeeds, 

The flush once on the oheek ; 
The tender tear of sympathy 

Has forever ceased to flow 
And the wretched heart no longer feels 

The bitter pangs of woe. 

Oh ! how deep the silent gloom that fills 

That dark and lonely cell ! 
Autumnal winds nor spring carols 

Can break that awful spell. 
No soothing power to avert, 

No ray shed on the gloom, 
Nor angel hand to kindly wake 

The sleeper of the tomb. 

"Where, oh where has the spirit gone I 

The tenant of that clay ; 
Obedient to an Omniscient call, 

It has quickly winged its way, 
Up to that starry realm bright, 

On angels pinions flown. * * * * 
We dream in Death's eternal sleep, 

Unknowing and unknown. 



-^^Prospection/i^ 

Twenty long, weary years from now — 

Sad and mournful thought ; 
Those glorious scenes we now hold dear, 

All, all, will be forgot. 
The flowers that bloom around us now, 

Will then be withered and dead, 
And the happy hours of childhood 

Will have forever fled. 

Those raven locks that shine so black, 

Will then be mixed with gray, 
And the rosy bloom on beauty's cheek, 

Will then have passed awaj^ 
Deep furrows then will take their place, 

The pencillings of care, 
And silvery threads in silken skeins. 

Will tinge the raven hair. 

The happy home, the fond embrace, 

And all we hold so dear ; 
The plac3 now light with social love, 

Will then be dark and drear. 
All hearts then glowed with happiness, 

All bright with tearless eyes, 
Perhaps now filled with burning tear, 

Breast swelled with troubled sighs. 

The flowers that grow around us now, 

Will then have ceased to bloom, 
And those to us now near and dear 

Shall sleep within the tomb. 
The family group — ^that golden chain — 

That we so love to wear, 
And places 'round the table too, 

Have many a vacant chair. 



10 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Ah ! liow fleeting is this life ; 

How soon the emeralds fade ; 
How soon the twilight's shadows close, 

And dark the evening shade. 
Down the dark vista of the past 

Fond landmarks still remain, 
That the phantoms of declining years 

Recall to life again. 



Dear friend, we part, and part in peace, 
Pray do not let fond memory cease, 

And as the weeks and days roll by, 
Kecall my name, or at least try. 

I know yon will, I know you can. 
For it is brief, 'tis short, I am — 

E, T 



•-^i^I^etrospection/if- 

Twenty long, long years ago, 

Where then were you and I? 
A gloo^iy age of sable night. 

Since then, has drifted by. 
A sombre woof. Old Time has wove, 

Since then, of days and y fears ; 
Chained and filled with hope and. joy, 

"With cares and useless fears. 

We think we see as when a boy, 

The school-house on the hill, 
The tortuous path that lead thereto, 

The foot-log o'er the dimpling rill. 
A hawthorn ne^ the well beat path 

In which a catrbird pla^ied her nest. 
The mossy log, still farther on, 

Dn which the school-boy stopped to rest. 

The school house, nestling in the wood. 

Just as it was long years ago, 
A forest dense, there towering stood. 

With undergrowth abundant too. 
A play-ground smoothed by busy feet, 

Around its rude but sacred door, . 
Reclines there in its lone retreat. 

As it had done in years of yore. 

Tender voices now seem to break. 

The stillness of the wearied air, ^-; 

And the fond echoes of long years ago, \ 

Fall gently on the list'ning ear. 
All seems one joyous, blissful round, 

Of happy thoughtless, endless cheer, 
A secret rapture makes profound 

Those memories of the by-gone year. 
11 " ^- . 



12 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

An unbroken silence now pervades, 

Those sacred haunts of by-gone days ;■ 
The school-house in the woodland shade, 

Long years gone-by sank in decay ; 
The zig-zag path, the hawthorn path, 

All, all have vanished out of sight. 
All, all have drifted far from me, 

In gloomy age of sable night. 

Where are the waifs of by-gone days ? 

Their shadows seem to linger still. 
Sweet notes, attuned with happy lays, 

On latent cords of memory thrill. 
Voices seem to reach the ear. 

Although now changed and far away, 
Of cherished ones we held most dear 

Perhaps now mouldering in decay. 

Ah ! sadly changed all things appear 

All nature seems to frown on me; 
The days, the weeks, the months and years, 

All's chained in one sad destiny. 
We love thee still, exhaustless theme ! 

A countless treasure's stored in thee, 
Still costlier, brighter, gems they seem, 

Since they are ever lost to me. 




-^^I'he-t-l'oinb^-of-i-Littile-t-Iv^ell/if- 

It WIS in a Icne secluded nook 

They buried 1 t:le Nell, 
Close by a little purling brook, 

That wended through the dell. 
There on a gentle sloping, bank 

Fringing on the brook, 
Ah ! lonely is that little mound, 

Within that shady nook. 

There the secluded wild flowers 

Blush and bloom unseen. 
Beneath the spreading brandies, 

Of those sweet bowers green. 
No friendly hand to train a vine, 

Or moisten with a tear, 
All is sad and lonely 

Beneath the shadows there. 

There the birds amidst the branches 

Sing their songs of praise, 
And the zephyrs in the dell 

Echo back the lays. 
The angels still watch o'er her tomb, 

That closed her sunken eyes, 
And bore away to heaven, 

That part that never dies. 

The Autumn's balmy midnight dews 

Bathe kindly with a tear. 
And strews her tomb, with falling leaves. 

Each sad, declining year. 
The birds still sing their matin song, 

Within that lonely dell. 
And the angels still guard o'er 

The tomb of little Nell. 

13 



Here we behold no costly domes, 

T^or elevated spires ; 
But the Alleghenys' lofty peaks, 

My bounding heart admires. 

Here we see few fertile fields, 

No wide extending plains ; 
But the mountain breeze sighs mid the trees, 

In wild arcadian strains. 

Here no minstrel band e'er chants 

This mountains praise, 
!N"o tuneful Bursis e'er yet has sang 

Its laureled ''banks and braes." 

Here tlie bold Indian roamed free, 

His proud spirit unconfined, 
Here he saw God in the cloud 

And heard him in the wind. 

And here the wild man slaked his thirst. 
Whilst chasing the nimble deer, 

And now the little speckeled trout, 
Spoi-t in these waters clear. 

We daily meet our mountain friends 

When out upon the road. 
Some with light and empty wains 

And others wJth a load. 

Sometimes we meet a sunburnt wife, 

A kerchief round her head. 
More frequently the mountain nymph, 

Their fancy colors red. 

14 



LINUS TOWNSEND, 15 

H^e tlie motrntain ash and poplar, ^ . " 

E-ear their summits high, 
And too we hear the night owl hoot. 

The ravens lonely cry. 

The maj)estiG oak and hemlock, ' 

Here in wild profasion grow, 
Whilst through a growth of underwood, 

The shades bright waters flow. 

Adieu ! adieu ! thou mountain glens, 

And the hills I've oft' passed o'er, ,; 
A long adieu, swift rolling shade, 

"We p$rt to meet no more. 

When I am in some distant land, 

Sometimes 111 think on thee, 
And when I'm bound in Death's cold chains, 

Thou 'It still be rolling free. 



i^^Tith^ 



^^^Ail-t-Interrogat!ion<-£iis"iijrered/if- 

I know there is a God who lives, 

Eternal in the sky, 
Awaiting for our exiled souls, 

The moment that we die, 

The moment that it leaves 
This frail tenement of clay ; 

Instinctive to Jehovah's throne, 
It quickly wings its way. 

Before that awful bar to wait, 
The dread, impending doom ; 

To be kindly led within its gate, 
Or banished from its home. 

To be sent unto that place 

Where gloomy horror reigns, 

There to see old Satan's face, 
And hear his clanking chains. 

Surrounded with that awful host 

Hell's own infernal crew, 
Poor pale, ghastly suffering ghosts 

Fill up that place of woe. 

There is no glorious sun to cheer 
That dark and endless day ; 

There racking pain and useless fear 
Wiles the awful time away. 

'\ Time ! what nreaning in that word. 

Our sun's forever set. 
Eternal absence from our God, 
One long, long endless night. 

16 



Dear friends, it is with feeliDgs of sadness I write, 
Although the stars twinkle, and the moon's shining bright, 
I indite these dull lines, alone in my room. 
My soul deeply shaded in sadness and gloom. 

It seems that the magic of unyielding despair, 
Is bathing its folds in the dull heavy air, 
And the spirits of the past, are slow gliding around, 
Wild dirges chanting, yet emitting no sound. 

With a soul wild, dilated, those horrors I view. 
They are not waife of fancy, they are terribly true, 
Each elf in its glee has a strain of its own, 
Whilst despair takes the lead in a sorrowful tone, 

The siren's song, with its notes sounding clear. 
Has failed to impress my unconscious ear. 
The dark hazy gloom, that has thickened around. 
Now falls on my ear, a monotonous sound. 

The landscape's bright colors to me seem to fade, 
And the hillside's rich tints are losing a shade, 
The wild flowers too, that bloom in the vale, 
Are episodes drear in my mournful tale. 

Oh, how will I break this sad charm of despair, 

And dispel the dark gloom that is hovering near ? 

Will I seek the confines of some lone quiet shade, 

Where the birds with their songs are enchanting the glade? 

The fr(3ntiers would be a sweet haven of bliss, 
A Paradise compared with a bound'ry like this. 
There the forest's wild denizens would howl in their glec^ 
And **»^ sweet breath of heaven would drift along free. 

17 



18 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

There the stars high above us would twinkle so bright, 
And the meteor's wild glare would illumine the night; 
The silvery moon with its cold silent beams, 
Would soothe our soft sleep and quiet our dreams. 

There the sad incubus I have borne of late, 
"Would give place in my breast to a happier fate, 
The unhappy temptations that here do pervade. 
Would wane in the charms of that beautiful shade. 

The gay little town ol which we now tell, 
Compared with the place where Lot used to dwell. 
Is not situated on a bold mountain side. 
But stands gently on a bright sparkling tide. 

Its streets are not paved with the hard granite stone, 
Or for lofty pretensions this place it has none. 
You may find often here lots of mud in the streets, 
1 - With a few other things not rendered complete. 

My muse may recount, as it passes along. 

What the critic may censure and the staid may think VvTong, 

It is not with the same optics we all do survey, 

Nor with the same voice express what we say. 

'Tis not with the same feet that people all walk, 
Nor with the same tongue that gentlefolk talk; 
Pause, gentle reader, if you should tarry here. 
You may find a few things, perhaps, looking queer. 

The dark side of Nature, we are apt to view, 
Whilst with the bright side we'll have nothing to do. 
With my muse you'll find fault, perhaps censure me, 
But, on the plea of insanity, let us go free. 

We are all of us busy as the ants in a hill. 
In his favorite vocation, plying his skill, 
- Or the mute busy bees, that buzz 'round the hive. 
Preparing sweet food on which they may live. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 19 

We are all piqued with envy, wlien one gets in advance 
And all truly happy when we get the same chance. 
And on some poor Avhit, who with Fate, lags behind, 
We confer scathing censure, that is truly unl^ind. 

Charity and mercy to us here's unknown, 
Where envy and malice are filling the throne; 
Those precepts divine, are sublime, theories. 
But the modes that we practice, tacitly denies. 

Whilst giant progression is now making strides, 
And o'er hill, plain and mountain triumphantly rides. 
My muse in its fancy thinks proper to fill. 
These pages immaculate, wdth an indurate quill, 

Each one in a chosen vocation engages, 
A specimen sample you'll find on these pages, 
Its records are true as the periods of time. 
Truth celestial disclosed in the genius of rhyme. 

The Bard, he feels it a haven of bliss, 
Alone in seclusion making records like this, 
His muse the lone seraph alone hovers near, 
Taking notes with a quill from the wing of despair. 

Perhaps we may slight some of our best friends, 
You will best know when our chapter it ends. 
We feel now disposed to give each a treat. 
Just let the dose savor of bitter or sweet. 

Here the streets are all crowded from morning to night. 
With a shade of all colors from the dark to the light. 
There are men and some women, there are girls and some boys, 
Each bearing their load of care, sorrow and joys. 

Some are blithe, airy and wild in their strains, 

With heads on their shoulders much lacking in brains, 

But sti'] happy are they, in the sunshine of youth, 

A bright surface dimples v^hen the current runs smooth. 



20 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

They fill up their churches with faces stretched long, 
All apparently happy, a sanctified throng, 
They scan one another from the head to the feet, 
To see that their clothes are all fitting and neat. 

The members cheat one another and professors will lie, 
A sweet round of glory that none will deny, 
On Sunday you will see them divinely impressed, 
But they fail through the week in a practical test. 

A bright halo on Sunday around them is thrown, 
As they sit at their ease in pews of their own. 
When the service is over they think their work done, 
Then the week they spend freely for money and fun. 

A libertine clergy is now all the go. 
What element infatuate, has rendered it so ? 
If we were a prophet perhaps we might say, 
But the poor, humble poet ne'er travels that way. 

The wary butcher stands alone in his ^tall, 
Complacently awating his customer's call. 
With his neat little shop so cozy and nice, 
Hard up as we are, we too call for a slice. 

His meat is so nicely strewn round on a block, 
A large lot of old bull helps to make up the stock, 
Sometimes he has lamb that he hangs at the door. 
With its light gauzy web he covers it o'er. 

To make you believe it is covered with fat, 
But you will find out full soon its poor as a rat. 
Two-thirds of the sheep you can put in your pot, 
And that won't interfere with your having it hot; 

He has likely a calf that is not a week old. 
He will declare finer veal has never be^in sold, 
Perhaps the poor thing had not sucked the cow twice, 
That's the reason its chops are so tender and nice. 



LINUS T0WN8END. 21 

Oae thing of the butcher around here is said, 

That he sells all his beef out in steaks, but the head. 

Perhaps of what's said, not one half is quite true, 

Though sometimes we think our steakes looking some blue. 

He will sell you bologna by the foot or the yard. 
All made from bull's neck, and that's why its so hard. 
Its color is varied from the black, blue and brown, 
And the butcher declares its the best in the town. 

He wears a long gown, it is white as the snow, 

That his poor wife at home has just rendered so. 

He's a conscience within, stretched from morning to night, 

From weighing out meat with a balance too light. 

It is not the meat vender we are charging with blame, 
For honesty among us, is naught but a name. 
If he would do otherwise his purse would be slim, 
As we all around town are just doing like him. 

We know that the butcher these lines will forgive. 
For by cheating our friends is the way that we live ; 
If you are in Rome, you must do just as Rome, 
That's the rule we apply in its beauty at home. 

My muse has a duty in rhyme to unfold, 
Truth cannot be swayed by either silver or gold ; 
A sacred boundary we cannot pass o'er, 
Is the reason is why sages are poor. 

The musician is a harmless peculiar elf. 
He thinks lots of his friends, but still more of himself, 
With an easy transition through the town he swift glides, 
He walks twenty long miles, for one that he rides. 

We love his sweet music, it drives away care. 

And enchants with its raptures as it floats an the air ; 

The keys are touched lightly, good time he does keep, 

It's just the nice thing to put babies asleep. 



•22 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Oh a soul without music's a horror to view, 
A fitting recruit for a piratical crew ; 
Strategy and spoils fill the vacuum complete, 
Leaving the tenant empyrean, a hapless defeat. 

The doctor he hovers around the sick bed, 
With a calk in his eye and a tap of the head, 
With a great many motion that make him look wise, 
Two-thirds of them fools dressed up in disguise. 

To diagnose our disease he will not hesitate. 
And to bring you safe through just sooner or late. 
He soon fills you with drugs, their name the Lord knows, 
Instead of a cure he increases your woes. 

You want help from the gods when you settle the bill ; 
For one that he cures, more than twenty he'll kill. 
He will declare if you die that he has done his best. 
And that God in his mercy has sent you to rest. 

Oh, the doctor,. for him we do tenderly feel. 
For we need him as bad as the spokes in a wheel. 
An incorporate town would be a failure I'm sure. 
Without a doctor's gilt shingle nailed on a door. 

The doctor may think our pen's too severe, 
As around the dark headlands we are trying to steer ; 
As the twilight advances, deep thickens the gloom; 
With the doctor in company we'll soon reach the tomb. 

The small traveler in arms, oh we love it so dear, 
May the angels above ever hold vigils near, 
With their shield of defence ever shining so bright, 
Guide them through the dark vale of life's gloomy night. 

And when some insidious foe is lying in wait. 
Or the cold slimy folds of a relentless fate. 
Is preparing its coils in some dark lone retreat. 
May thy vigils then kindly place a la.»ip at its feet. 



LINUS TO WNSEND, ., ^ 23 

Or unseen in the dark gloomy forests of life, , ■ . 

With an undergrowth thick of entangling strife, 

With the tear drops of sorrow investing its brow. 

May the angels be then its protector — as now. > * 

The school teacher struts along these gay streets. 
With a courteous " how are you," for all those he meets. 
With his hat daintily tipped on his bump of esteem, 
With a bright future perspective to enliven his dream. 

ISFo gloom in his prospects appears now in view, 
With a horizon transcendently rapturous too ; 
The bright sun in the east appears to rise in a flame, 
And has lit up with glory, the summit of fame. 

Well advanced in bold manhood his valor mounts high, 

To ascend to its portals he is going to try. 

With hopes, serial visions, gently floating in view. 

And with a fond aspiration he is breathing them too. 

The lawyer's a man with arms, hands and feet. 

He is frequently met with, out walking the street; 

He has a head on his shoulders that is well stored with brain, 

If he meets with you once, he will meet you again. , 

He has a happy accent and a smooth oily tongue. 

And a kind happy greeting for the old and the young ; 

If you get into trouble through misfortune or fraud. 

He will crown justice triumphant — presumption outlawed. . 

He loves the gold dollar — its bright happy face. 
In his lone sanctum, it too finds a place. 
This god we all worship and praise with one voice. 
Whilst with duties incumbent we all have a choice. 

The blacksmith hammers away on his iron so hot, . 

He will work for you still, if you pay him or not; ^ ' - 

He will stop in a moment and drive you a shoe. 
Mend the chains you have broken or cut you a screw. 



24 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

His anvil's kept ringing from morning till night, 
Scarcely through with one customer until another's in sight, 
Misery loves company we always have known, 
J That's why the poor blacksmith's so seldom alone. 

A good assortment of iron he has always about, 

If his customers just then are not all of them out, 

We all have a conscience, about the same kind, 

If there not made of all rubber, we have them well lined. 

The miller so honest, with his burrs all complete. 

Is calmly awaiting to grind out your wheat ; 

Those smooth pigs in his yard, and what about that? 

We are not prepared now to say on whose grain they grow fat. 

He keeps a nice cow, and she is sleek as a mole, 
And the way he gets rich is by minding his toll ; 
Your sacks may have holes that will your wheat drop, 
All you lose in that way you wont miss from your crop. 

Oh ; the miller we love him ; he is honest as steel. 
Just send him your corn and he'll make you the meal ; 
Perhaps by mistake he may toll your grain twice, 
Oh ; I never will fault him, he does it so nice. 

Our thanks to the miller, w^e have known him long, 

He has courteously now helped to make up our song ; 

And we will mourn for him truly when we hear that he's dead, 

And the debt of kind nature he's honestly paid. 

We have still a few friends we cannot pass o'er, 
They stand behind a long counter, they call it a store, 
With a long stick they buy, and a short one make sales, 
Unjust are their weights and uneven their scales. 

Go to theirstore and they will sell you a bill. 
And your money they will safely dispense in their till. 
They will make out your bill strictly down to a thread, 
You may find the same list on their books still unpaid. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 2b 

For such small mistakes we have nothing to say, 
It is all nicely done in a buisness like way, 
Then to the church they will go nice and clean, 
"We don't insinuate here they are guilty and mean. 

"We are here all enlightened and claim citizen's rights. 
If wide pants don't suit us we can have them made tights, 
With a character for honesty 'round here well known, 
We can then steal what we please, or just let it alone. 

The happy shoemaker sits all the time at his ease, 
With an old boot or shoe for repairs on his knees, 
In this happy condition from morning till night, 
He is waxing his thread to make the seams tight. 

With his hammer and awl, he keeps pegging away. 
An4 his smooth glib tongue has still something to say, 
As he blacks up his w^ork to make it look sleek, 
He refreshes his friend with the news of the week ; 

Perhaps politics is the present topic supreme, 

He will give you a dose as he closes a seam, 

Without fear or restraint he will give you the news, 

With the repairs still progressing on his boots and his shoes. 

The leather is safe that you leave in his care. 
Perhaps a small slip he may take for repair. 
Which you'll never miss, if once cut from a side, 
A breadth for half soles is only four inches wide. 

Honest Crispen for this is not much to blame, 
We all say he will steal, so he wishes the game. 
Now if Crispen forgives us, we will leave him in peace, 
With a hope that his custom will largely increase. 

We have many friends around town who won't get a call, 
Its impossible now lor us to wait on them all ; 
It would give us great pleasure every one knows. 
To call on our friends as well as our foes. 



iiO ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The Esquire may think it very unkind, 
That with so many in tow we have left him behind ; 
That we passed his office and did not call in ; 
That it was cruel, unsocial and bordering on sin. 

The poor dolty justice should never complain, 
"With a pettifog law thus investing his brain ; 
He will issue a summons from his docket so neat, 
And immediately he'll close up a judgement complete. 

Of the man at the bridge we have nothing to say, 
Just hand him his toll and pass on your way ; 
This time honored custom was practiced of old, 
"When our Saviour found Matthew he was taking in toll. 

This faithful old bridge has served us for years, 
To hear of its failing, sad fills me with tears ; 
It has borne us o'er the flood seething deep. 
For its time serving arches I sorrow and weep. 

We hope the old bridge may long stand to brave 
The wind and the storm, and relentless wave. 
And afford us safe transit from shore unto shore, 
"With its covering o'er head and undulating floor. 

As you enter its portals, gay birds are singing sw^eet songs, 

To cheer the wayfarer as he trudges along. 

It is a prisoner's notes that they sing in their glee ; 

It is not the sweet song of the birds that are free. 

In the thick leafy wood and the bowers so green. 
Where the lone vale low stretches, its deep shades between ; 
Where the high hills surrounding are soothed by the breeze, 
There the sweet song of the birds are heard from the trees. 

The trolling we hear from behind the gilt prison bar. 
Are not the sweet echoes we hear from afar ; 
A kind hand may feed and their wants may assuage, 
But a sweet happy concert's not found in a cage. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 27 

Sweet birds and old bridge we shall now leave you here, 
With the kind hand that feeds you and loves you so dear ; 
Old bridge may thy arches yet sustain thee quite long, 
And thos(? birds at the window live to greet thee with song. 

We are a people well blest with the earth's richest store, 
But still so rapacious, we are c] amorous for more ; 
With our heaviest supplies, our wants still increase ; 
The happiest among us are those who have least. 

The poor wretched tramp who begs for his bread. 
Who has a stone for his pillow, the sod for his bed, 
The w^ide land for his home, that none will deny, 
And has for his covering the blue starry sky; 

He is richer than a nabob, with all his rich store ; 
When he fills his lone grave his troubles are o'er, 
No one to mourn o'er his lone silent tomb, 
But the birds early song and the wild flowers bloom, 

A line or two more and we finish our poem. 
Our paper's exhausting, we are lacking for room. 
The poet is blessed much the Lord only knows, 
As the older he gets, the poorer he grows. 

Without money or friends he reclines all alone, 
In the depths of seclusion he is sought for by none ; 
Thus the world it wags on without heeding his skill, 
With the demon despair haunting him still. 

This life is a poem if we live we'll rehearse. 
We may render it prose or read it in verse ; 
We may set it to music or sing it by air. 
No difierence which, the notes will be there. 

You may try its sweet notes on the fife or the drum, 
The euphony there and the music will come ; 
Sometimes it is harsh and grates on the ear, 
But the swe3t nectar of life always renders it clear. 



28 ORIGINAL POEMS, 

Each one chooses the canto he loves the best, 
That soothes him to slumber and lulls him to rest; 
Sometimes it is jargon, all discord and strife, 
Such is the sweet music we have through this life. 

My muse is volatile, but for aye on the wing, 

It is often erratic but still it wall sing ; 

It sips from each flower to make its voice clear ; 

It is the mixed sweet and bitter that makes it sound queer. 



. -^^^^utograpli-t-f or K JVEute.-^- 

Thine may be a hapless lot, 

A wayward destiny ; 
Friends may appear heartless and cold 

And lost to sympa^thy. 
But still on life's cold sterile waste, 

Unfailing oasis spring, 
Around which the birds of Paradise. 

In chorus sweetly sing. 



^^B^Dr.eary-t-]V[oop->of-t-Life.'^- 

The dreary moor of life we would ne'er, 
. Attempt to cross again, 
And no more would tread the bleak cold path 

That marks its arid plain. 
The gloomy, wild deserted path with thorns, 

Is thickly overgrown ; 
Its beauties all, all have vanished, 

Its charms to me have flown. 

As the fragile span of life we pass^ 

Its trembling arches o'er, 
And verge upon the spirit land , 

That lone, mysterious shore. 
Mutely we stand, appalled, in view's 

The near approaching strand, 
Far, far away 's the plain of life. 

And near's the spirit land. 

The rapturous scenes of life endeared, 

Eeceding from our view, 
Those landscapes fair and dear to us. 

Fade o'er the waters blue. 
A gloomy mist thick covers o'er 

Life's fast receding coast ; 
Far in the distance, far away, 

Those glorious scenes are lost. 

I pause upon the midway arch, 

And lo ! on either hand, 
There sparkle out familiar scenes, 

There shines the mystic strand. 
No sun, nor moon, nor twinkling star, 

Beams brilliant o'er our head, 
A glorious tribunal is there 

That yields a light instead! ^ . 

29 



-4s^Obitiiary<-of-t-PearLt-C. Bupl^ct^i^* 

Say, hath this priceless gem of ours 

Away forever flown ; 
And left ns here, with tears and pain, 

And sadness all alone? 
We weep the lonely hours away ; 

Our darling's spirit's fled, 
And 'neath the covering of the tomb 

Lies sleeping with the dead. 

And is he then forever gone ; 

Shall we seek for him in vain. 
And the dimples on his rosy cheeks 

Shall we never see again? 
Awakened from sad midnight dreams, 

To brush away a tear. 
We turn around, unconsciously, 

To find all vacant there. 

We thought a few brief days ago, 

Our happiness complete. 
As we pressed fondly to our hearts 

This transient flower sweet. 
As we held him gently in our arms, 

Our thoughts were far away, 
But now our hearts in sadness turn 

For him beneath the clay. 

We have watched with fond emotion. 

His smiles and happy glee. 
But now sweet phantoms — day dreams — 

Are all that's left for me. 
An aching void is in our hearts. 

That time can never fill. 
For there, but sweet sad memories 

Shall ever linger still. 

30 



LINUS TO WNSEND, Z1 

Long, gloomy days and weary nights, 

To us will wear away, 
"Whilst many with unbroken charms, 

Will still be blithe and gay. 
We look on this cold world so drear, 

Its charms to us have fled, 
The flower that once we held so dear, 

Lies withering with the dead. 

Our only child, we hold it dear, 

Now sleeps beneath the sod ; 
His spirit free from guilt and sin 

Is happy with its God. 
There Jesus, with trancendent love, 

Extends a Savior's care, 
Whilst angels, holy angels, 

Are ever waiting near. 

• -♦-f-^t 0^0 ^*-^-<- • 



•^^^Aii1:ograph.-t-for-t-j^-t-]\Iiite.-j 

Thou cans't not hear the birds sweet sons:, 

That vibrates in the trees, 
Kor hear the zephyrs gently floating 

On the soft Summer Breeze ; 
Thou cans't not hear the notes of love, 

Nor list its magic tone, 
Sad desolation clothes the realm. 

Where silence fills the throne. 



S=>9 



^^^l'he-t-l(isl^iiniiietas.-j> 

Flow on, bright, sparkling river, 

We hear no sighs from thee, 
Thy dancing ripples kiss the sunbeams, 

As thou art rippling free. 
Still onward o'er thy sandy bed, 

Thy dimpling currents flow, 
Whilst we are standing near 

Thy peerless tides below. 

The moon's pale beams steal o'er thee, 

Their nightly vigils keep, 
And they light up the sparkling shoals 

Like wizards of the deep, 
As happy they with lightning speed. 
Dash through the limpid waves, 
Or sink again in peaceful bliss 

Into the marine caves. 

The exhaustive storm cloud's futile wind, 

Or the soothing amorous breeze. 
That sighs in tender cadence. 

Through the depending trees. 
That mutely span the arcade o'er 

Thy ever dimpling wave. 
Or trifle with the fern leaves. 

Thy stranding ripples lave. 

The midnight winds that calmly float, 

When silence reigns supreme, 
And soothes the balmy ripple o'er, 

Thy surface smooth, serene. 
The lightning bug's impotent spark. 

Oft cheers it with its ray. 
But with a transient glow of bliss, 

It quickly fades away. 

32 



LINUS TOWNSEND, 33 

ITo gloomy shade e're passes o'er 

Thy silvery mirrored crest, 
I^or the dire shafts of ruthless woe, 

E'er pierce thy heaving breast. 
No ! thou art free from care, 

Unsullied is thy tide, 
And spotless is thy glowing sheen, 

That sheets thy currents wide. 

Thou canst feel no amours, 

Oh thou impulsive tide, 
Although thou may'st the bowers kiss 

That languish by thy side. 
Beneath the tears of sighing mom, 

That fall upon thy breast, 
Or dally with the downy winds, 

That ripple o'er thy crest. 

Or clasp the ever purling rill, 

Within thy fond embrace. 
And flirt with peerless mountain streams, 

That join thee in thy race. 
High o'er thee, the mountain heights, 

Enwreathed in foliage green. 
Triumphant in thy mural bed, 

You calmly roll between. 

Oh, thou art rolling onward still. 

Immaculate and free, 
Soon to commingle with the wave, 

That spans the deep blue sea. 
As onward still my native stream. 

My heart will follow thee. 
Unto that vast unknown deep : 

That strand's Eternity ! 



'4 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Onward, impassioned river, on, I 

Thy rippling current flows, 
No sympathy within thy breast 

For me who seeks repose. 
My childhood's cherished river, 

Thou seek'st the ocean stream. 
Whilst we sport with heated Avaves, 

In life's delusive dream ! 



:^^:rjQ-l%^3^^^^^-^-z^^ 



-4iObitnary. 



Befoi-e death's stark and chilly breath, 

The fairest flowers yield, 
And sedgy, tinted, dreary shades 

Bpell-bind the fertile field. 
Dread landmarks by his ruthless hand, 

Mark well each dale and hill, 
Around which love's sweet memories, 

There fondly linger still. 

To me one spot on earth made dear, 

By loves enduring tie. 
As there, down in the sacred dust, 

My fondest treasures lie. 
There, wrapt in Death's calm, endless sleep, 

Those cherished treasurs stay, 
Unconscious in that cold embrace, 

Fast sinking in decay. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 821 

There, loves endearing emblems bud, 

In sweet perrenial bloom, 
And bathes with Spring's sweet fragrance, 

Her green and grassy tomb. 
There summer hovers 'round it, 

Abundant in her sheaves; 
Whilst Autumn strews with lifes sad token, 

The sere and yellow leaves. 

Cold Winter comes there undisguised, 

And spreads its snowy pall, 
And with his chill, relentless hand 

Chains with an icy thrall. 
There Winter's winds may breathe dismay, 

And clank its dreary chains, 
But the rapture for that sacred spot, 

within my heart remains. 

There o'er that sad and lonely spot, 

The birds sweet carols sing. 
And in their chosen concerts swell 

Their anthems to the coming Spring. 
They linger there, night, noon and morn, 

Bright Seraphs in disguise, 
To guard the place and cheer wdth song, 

The vault where my treasure lies. 

Oft-times light winged in midnight dreams. 

My anxious spirit seeks in vain. 
And in my lonely waking hours, 

Her matchless form recall again. 
Too soon those phantoms take their flight 

Wans unto a realm unknown. 
And I am left in dismal night 

To while away the hours alone. 



-^Ji^l'he-i-^ere-t-aiid-t-yelloW-t-Iieaf.-^- 

The forest leaves are fading fast 

Out on the distant hili, 
And the glorious tints of summer, 

AVouM fondly linger still ! 
As leaf by leaf in silence drops, 

The sere and yellow leaves, 
And sighing through the naked boughs, 

Low moans the autumn breeze. 

The wild birds in their wanton glee. 

Have ceased to pipe their song, 
And the fading bowers deserted now, 

By that gay and happy throng ; 
They have gone to pipe their salient notes, 

Within some Southern grove, 
To renew again in artless strains, 

The charms of social love. 

The fading sere and yellow leaf, 

1^0 w tints the lonely glen, 
And the chilly breeze of autumn, 

Is drifting there again ; 
The rasping of the katydid, 

Is heard on every bough, 
And the wailing of declining year, 

Strikes low and sadly now\ 

The drumming of the pheasants wings, 

Resound in every dell. 
And the chirping of the chipmunk 

The lonely echos swell ; 
The croaking of the fateful crow, 

As he is passing near, 
Adds to the solemn pathos, 

Of the declining year. 

36 



- 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 37 

The ripe and yielding chestnut burrs, 

Are dropping to the ground. 
Adding another note of woe 

To the long accustomed sounds. 
Beneath the forest's lengthning shade, 

In sadness we recline, 
The withering grass beneath our feet, 

Close by the drooping vine. 

The rose in all its glory, 

iSTow has passed away, 
And the rich folds of the dahlias 

Are shrinking in decay. 
The cricket in the grassy knoll 

Too, has ceased to sing. 
And the little busy bee, 

To buzz upon the wing. 

Adieu ! adieu, to summer's glory, 

To fall and happy spring, 
Thy floral beauties fading ; 

The nymph's upon the wing. 
The prestige of cold winter's 

Now floating on the breeze ; 
The forest's fading foliage green. 

The sere and yellow leaves. 

Sad emblems of the fleeting years, 

That have forever passed away, 
Sad tokens of departed friends. 

Who now are mouldering in decay. 
They have fallen ; sere and yellow leaves, 

Before autumn's chilly gloom. 
And sleep beneath the withered grass, 

Lone tenants of the tomb. 



-^^^•t-Dacoratioii-t-JVIemorialr^- 



Insatiate war, thy reign is o'er, 

Thy cruel work's complete, 
The subjects of thy hapless rule 

^OYi lie beneath thy feet. 
Ten thousand graves o'er hill and dale, 

Thy bleeding victims fill, 
Sleeping within their silent tombs, 

The triumphs of thy skill. 

Sleeping in unknown graves. 

From home and friends away, 
No one o'er them to shed a tear, 

Or floral tributes pay. 
Deep in some secluded spot 

They rest in peace alone. 
Away from friends, far, far away, 

TTnknowing and unknown. 

Although in some secluded spot, 

Silent lone graves they fill. 
Deep within our hearts enshrined. 

Their memory lingers still ! 
The wild rose decks their quiet gravG r> 

On each returning spring, 
The birds will from the vernal bowers 

Their annual requiem sing. 



LINUS TOWNSEND, 39 

Kind nature will o'er thee 

Her choicest garland spread, 
Whilst angels — holy vigilants, 

Celestial tears will shed. 
Messengers on angel wings, 

A cortege sublime, serene, 
Will scatter flowers thickly o'er. 

And shroud their tombs in green. 

Autumn's sere and yellow leaf, 

May thickly scatter o'er. 
But safe within our memories locked. 

The sacred relic store. 
And as the ceaseless wheels of lime 

Eoll round each fleeting year, 
We'll pause beside thy silent tomb 

And shed o'er thee a tear. 

The turmoil of battle now is passed, 

1 he smoke has cleared awa; , 
The soothing smiles of happy peace, 

Bright cheers the welcome day. 
Ten thousand homes made glad, 

By calm returning peace, 
The din of war resounds no more, 

The clash of arms has ceased. 

Once more the peaceful hearth 

Its sacred bonds renew, 
Again its waning, fading chain 

Is rendered brighter too. 
Charms 'round the social hearth 

Are fondly renewed again, 
Burnished anew the golden link , 

That form the sacred chain. 



40 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Adieu ! adieu ! thou patriot dead, 

A last, a long adieu ! 
We hope on heaven's flowery plain, 

Again to meet with you. 
And marshaled 'round the banner 

That sweeps that glorious plain, 
As members of God's chosen corps, 

To meet with you again. 

Long, long sweet cherished liberty, 
We would fondly see thee reign. 
Alone with thee, endearing peace. 

Thou genial happy twain. 
One thing in conquest's triumphs, 
:^- ' We kindly ask of thee, 

. iv To blend with historic fame, 

The boon of charity. 

And 'neath the emblazoned stars 
\|)i?^. Let peace forever reign, 

r- 'iv And under the tree of liberty, 

Repose the martyred slain, 
And wide o'er their sacred dust. 
Its clustering branches spread, 
That safe beneath its sheltering shade. 
Free men may chant peans o'er the dead. 




•^^£-t-patal<-Encounter ^- 

It was a bleak December day, 

The wind blew fierce and wild, 
As on a terraced archway, 

A fated laborer toiled. 
He was alone, no one was near; 

Wild blew the wint'ry gale. 
And swift on the borean blast, 

Was borne a dismal tale. 

Paralyzed by fate's relentless grasp, 

No power on earth to save, 
To turn that cruel hand away, 

That pointed to the grave. 
Full soon on iron freighted wheels, 

The messenger came on ; 
'Tis done ; was borne upon the breeze, 

The fatal work is done ! 

There, stretched upon his dying bed. 

That bed of death was snow, 
No friendly hand to ameliorate. 

Or soothe a latent woe. 
No pensive form to bend o'er him, 

No eye to shed a tear. 
No breast to heave a tender sigh. 

Nor tongue to lisp a prayer. 

His immortal spirit took its flight, 

To seek a better land, 
Atid left this cold dark vale of night, 

For a bright and happy strand. 
Where the engine's whistle's never heard, 

And bleak winds never blow ; 
Where briny tears are never shed, 

Nor bitter scenes of woe. 

41 



Far down the Alleghenys' western slope, 

There flows a pnrling stream, 
Where mural banks are garlanded o'er, 

By the never fading laurel green, 
Gently from its rippling strand, 

Recedes the fertile plain, 
Thickly interspersed with shad}^ groves. 

And fields of wavy green. 

Tributaries assist by meandering. 

That swell its limpid tide, 
Whilst tortuous brooks and simpering rill, 

Pour in from every side. 
Those gurgling streamlets in silence steal 

Through deep secluded dells, 
And with, their bounteous limpid freights, 
Its heaving bosom swells. 

Villages thick on every side. 

Dot its romantic shore, 
Whilst buoyant on its glassy tide, 

Light dips the pliant oar. 
Low the canny duck on fleeting wing. 

Skims o'er the liquid plain. 
To find in peace some sheltering nook ; 

Its search is all in vain. 

Paulton, in a lonely vale, 

Receeds behind a western hill, 
And Beaver run that bathes its base. 

Is onward rippling still. 
High hills surround this solitude, 

With wild wood covered o'er ; 
Entangling vines and mossy rocks. 

Adorn its beauteous shore. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 4i 

A station here holds royal sway ; 

The trains swift past they fly, 
Their sable haze thick eddying 'round, 

Makes dark the azure sky. 
The iron wheels with whirling speed. 

Make bright the potent rail ; 
Safe bound with iron ligameni. 

Pursues the freighted trail. 

Triumphant near a store room lies, . 

High on the trestles safely stands, 
Where the rustic's ever searching eye, 

Its favored trophies scans. 
And from its well assorted shelves, 

Has claimed a good supply ; 
Whilst art's herculean waife, 

Impassive linger nigh. 

Lower down the iron clad, 

Swift whirrs its busy wheels, 
And from potent arm. Farina, 

The luscious manna yields. 
With iron cranks and buzzing sav*/'S, 

There stands the planing mill, 
On yeilding pine, with facile care, 

Performs its wondrous skill. 

The crematory here in view, 

Performs its secret trade. 
And within its seething arch 

The taps are nicely laid. 
Through the process of calcining 

The facile yielding clay 
Is reduced by induration. 

To a, staple of the day. 



44 ORIGINAL POEMS, 

This sparkling river as it flows, 

Reflects upon its tide, 
The busy village nestling near 

And blooming fields beside. 
Where lowing herds in busy groups, 

Crop the sweet herbage green, 
Shady groves and sloping hills 

Make up the rural scene. 

There Apollo stands in beauty clad. 

As lovely as the blooming May, 
Along its streets in evening shades 

Light trips the '^banged, " the gay. 
Loud and clear, the jocund peal, 

In cadence sweet with music rings, 
As Cupid sweeps with magic hand, 

Its sacred harp of many strings. 

; "When gloomy night her sable pall. 

Is stretching o'er this lovely scene. 
The crow^ning hills, the vale and all, 

The dimpling currents calm betw een, 
Are locked within one drear embrace, 

The glowing moon high o'er surveys 
It from the blue etherial space. 

And soothes it with its silvery rays. 




•^^l'lie-t-]Y[orning->V/aIl^r^- 

It was one summer mornin;:;' 

In the balmy month of J iine^ 
Low in the golden Orient 

The sun in glory shone. 
I wandered forth — was all alone, 

To breathe the fragrant air, 
To view the favored landscape, 

And pluck the flowers rare. 

The path I chose to ramble, 

Stretched far across the plain, 
With many a shady bower near, 

And fields of waving grain. 
The boughs in those sheltering groves, 

Were cheered with matin song, 
And the balmy breeze of early morn 

Light bore the strains along. 

The gaudy spangled butterfly 

Soft moistened with the dew, 
Slow athwart the fertile fields. 

In pensive silence flew ; 
When in its undulating flight, 

Wwould stop to sip the flower, 
And while away in happy glee 

The evanescent hour. 

Unconscious of the waning time, 

I wandered o'er the lawn, 
And listened to those rapturous strains, 

That woke the sleeping morn. 
The odor of the verdant mead, 

Cheered me on the way, 
And the lone and dainty daisy, 

Waved its penants gay. 

45 



46 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The wary rabbit lingered still, 

And nipped the dewy grass, 
And with a confiding mien. 

Shy paused until I passed ; 
Then with a soft and easy tread, 

'T would lightly skip away, 
To seek beneath some sheltering nook, 

Where it may spend the day. 

The pilfering owl, on lazy wing, ^ 

Soared to some desert steep. 
Where the bright sunny days away, 

In safety he might sleep ; 
Returning from some hapless roost. 

Where he had sought in vain. 
The tenant of a sheltering tree, 

A lucious feast to gain. 

His shadow deepened as he passed. 

Slow upon the lazy wing. 
Close by, beneath the grassy sod, 

I heard the cricket sing ; 
Responsive from a neighboring barn, 

The shrill note of chanticleer, 
That long familiar sound. 

Fell gently on my ear. 

The plowman in a distant field, 

Awoke his rustic lay. 
As across the arid plain. 

He slowly wends his way ; 
Upon a rising eminence. 

Awaits his glittering share. 
Whoa ! he gently bade his team, 

As to it he drew near. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 4n 

The herds within, adjoining fields 

Were loitering in the shade, 
Or through the luxuriant pasture 

In bovine pleasure strayed ; 
Or reclined beneath the umbrage 

Of some spacious balmy grove, 
Where the birds amid the bowers, 

Eehearsed their songs of love. 

A sauntering flock of snowy sheep. 

Slow strolled across the green ; 
Where straggling brawny oaks, 

With underwood between, 
Their lofty shadows fell 

In arches ; o'er the hill, 
Thus spanning a fairy arcade o'er, 

A pink fringed limpid rill. 

There the lamb — emblematic innocence — 

Skipped with wanton glee, 
Beneath those monarchs of the grove, 

In widening circle free ; 
The dams, unconscious of their sportive feats, 

Grazed unconscious still. 
Or slaked their thirst ever and anon, 

From out the neighboring rill. 

E"o storm cloud in frenzy burst 

Upon this landscape — calm serene ; 
IS'or thunder rolled, or lightning flashed, 

To mar the glorious scene. 
The balmy breathing zephyrs bathed 

Those sacred charmss anew, 
The fading flower renewed their tints, 

With salient midnight dew. 



-*^]Y[y-t-]V[otlier's.t-I^ing.-^> 

I have a little signet ring 

My mother used to wear, 
I have it nicely laid away 

With a ringlet of her hair. 
It is a little precious gem, 

The ring my mother wore, 
I hold it as a treasure dear, 

Its made of golden ore. 

It was my father's wedding gift 

When she became his bride; 
Then this ring it fell to me, 

When my poor mother died. 
My mother's gentle spirit's gone. 

We'll meet with her no more, 
But still I have that costly ring ; 

Its made of golden ore. 

Oh ! still I hear her tender voice. 

Sweet ringing in the air. 
And see her deep brown hazel eyes, 

Her glossy ringlets fair ; 
But now her gentle tone has ceased. 

We hear those sounds no more, 
But still I hold the sacred gem. 

That's made of golden ore. 

My loving mother's health declined. 

By a canker of disease. 
And when its cruel work was done. 

It left her here in peace. 
Hushed was then her voic3 in death, 

Its sound we hear no more, • . 

But that little gem is still with me, ^ 

The ring my mother wore. 

48 



i 



LINUS TO WNSEliD. 49 

Oh, mother, on heaven's flowery plain 

I hope to meet with thee, 
When from life's hard enthralling chains, 

A captive, I am free. 
To meet thee in the spirit land, 

On Jordan's peaceful shore, 
And leave far, far behind me. 

The ring of golden ore. 

The flowers with sweet fragrance bloomed, 

The birds sang in the trees. 
And the gentle zephyrs floated 

On the soft summer's breeze. 
But still her hand grew lily white; 

A plain gold ring it wore, 
I now possess that treasure, 

Its made of golden ore. 

A.S each day passed full slow away, 

One there grew pale and thin. 
Then gloomy was our cottage home, 

And silence reigned within. 
Each step we took was soft and light 

Upon our humble floor. 
But still there sparkled on a hand, 

A ring of golden ore. 

Too soon a day of sorroAv came, 

It had been drawing near ; 
The glorious sun from out the east, 

Arose both bright and clear ; 
The sad prestige of the day, 

Had cast a shade before, 
And in sadness we beheld tlie ring 

That gem of golden ore. 



50 ORIGINAL POEM^. 

As an autumnal waning sun 

Still shed a lingering ray. 
Upon the silent bed of death, 

My poor dear mother lay. 
Those feeble hands were firmly clasped, 

That once the ring had wore ; 
Oh, dearly I do love the gem, 

That ring of golden ore. 

She motioned us to her bedside, 

Her lips moved slow in prayer ; 
I was one of that unhappy group, 

That was assembled there. 
She prayed for us and kissed us too 

We pressed the hand that wore 
That little ring so dear to me. 

That's made of golden ore. 

Her breathing now had gently ceased, 

Her spirit too, had fled, 
And an orphan group in silent tears, 

Were standing by the dead. 
With a pall, my mother's calm, pale face, 

Was kindly covered o'er ; 
Sad memories bring that little ring. 

That's made of golden ore. 

My father, too, paced up and down. 

His heart was filled with woe ; 
The heart that now had ceased to beat, 

Had always loved him so ; 
Oft times he fondly stopped to kiss 

The cold clay hand that wore, 
That highly prized and sacred ring. 

That gem of golden ore. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 51 

I hope that I may live again, 

To see the happy day, 
When I can reach my mother's grave, 

And clear the leaves away ; 
And with the choicest flowers 

Her tomb I'll cover o'er, 
And wear upon my hand the ring — 

The ring my mother wore. 

And at her silent head and feet, 

I'd fondly place a stone ; 
"VVonld have engraved in letters deep : 

'' Here mother sleeps alone ;" 
Would bid it there a fond adieu, 

And never see it more. 
And moisten with a tear the ring, 

That's made of golden o're. 

Long dreary years have passed away, 

Since we placed her in the grave, 
And o'er my mother's lonely tomb, 

The branchy cedars wave. 
I turn those gems so tenderly, 

Retained in memories store. 
But there is none I love so dear, 

As the ring my mother wore. 

Oh ; the chain that binds me here. 

Its links are fading fast. 
And the moments time has given me, 

Are receding in the past ; 
Away unto the spirit land, 

To Canaan's blissful shore. 
And leave to those behind me, 

The ring my mother wore. 



-^iObituary-t'Of-t-Jtlugh-t-Blair. 



We all must die — that awful truth, 

Sounds dismal to the ear, 
That e'er long before the judgement seat 

Our spirits must appear. 

A sad sensation fills the mind, 

At this perspective view, 
That in so short a time our souls 

The same course must pursue. 

Must in the grave, death's gloomy cell 

Our bodies be confined, 
And to a goal, in depths unknown 

Our spirits be consigned. 

If but a moment we would reflect, 

Upon this imposing scene. 
How quick old age succeeds youth, 

How short the space between. 

Our fleeting moments pass away, 

Unconscious of our fate, 
A tacit respite from the doom, 

That follows soon or late. 

52 



•-^^^Ti'ribute^'to-t-tlie-t'JVIciriory-t-of-t-JVErs. Qray.^i^- 

Oh, stranger pause, unconsciously, 

Beneath that mouldering clay, 
A mother sleeps, oh, sweetly sleeps, 

Her spirit's passed away. 
Those tender flowers that sweetly bloom 

In silence o'er her grave, 
Commingling with the green, green grass, 

The midnight zephyrs wave. 

Oh, stranger stop, step lightly, 

Beneath thy reckless trc^id. 
Those flowers entwining with the grass 

Are weex^ing o'er the dead ; 
Distilling sweet the mountain dew, 

Deep in the midnight hour, 
Sweets scent the drifting midnight air 

The grave buds lonely flower. 

How sadly plumes the weary gem, 

The midnight shadows wave. 
Lit by the moon's pale languid beams 

Athwart the silent grave ; 
A mother calmly sleeps away. 

Death's long, long weary night. 
Unconscious of the draping flower. 

Or the moon's pale silvery light. 

I'll go unto my mother's grave. 

And train the tender vine. 
And mingle with the saccharine dews 

Those heartfelt tears of mine ; 
I'll press it with an aching heart, 

The green grass covered o'er, 
And weep upon the silent tomb, 

Of her I'll see no more. 

53 



54 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

If I would attempt in fancies flight, 

To reach the spirit's home, 
Or o'er the blue etherial waste, 

Its trackless pathway roam ; 
But fear amongst the starry hosts 

That I would lose my way, 
Without some winged celestial guide, 

I soon would go astray. 

On angel pinions swiftly borne. 

The spirit mounts the dizzy height, 
And through the starry dome unknown, 

Pursues its wayward flight. 
O'er that great boundless ocean wide, 

That vast etherial sea. 
From rockbound shores and swelling ti</.e, 

And marine dangers free. 

It wings in safety to that shore, 

The spirit's happy land, 
Where *summer storms and wint'ry winds 

Ne'er sweeps the blissful strand ; 
Where angels in the mid-day gleam 

Of the eternal day. 
And kindred spirits of the blest, 

In countless numbers stray. . - 

Jesus incarnate on his throne, :' 

There sways his scepter light ; 
1^0 sin or sorrow enter here, 

No dark or gloomy night. 
Jehovah in the judgement seat, 

Awaits a trembling host ; 
If it were not for his boundless gracu, 

As sinners we are lost. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 65 

Oh, mother, when this life is o'er, 

We hope to meet again, 
To wander on that blissful shore, 

That bounds Jehovah's plain. 
To pluck with thee, the flowers sweet, 

That never fade away. 
Where heaven's rippling currents meet, 

And zephyrs gently stray. 

Where happy notes eternal float, 

From Jehovah's golden lyre, 
And flowing strains sweet mount agaiii 

From heaven's chosen choir. 
There God alone, upon his throne, 

Bright cheered the happy morn 
The glorious ray of endless day, 

Those glorious scenes adorn. 



-^^^I'o-t-a^'J^oYice't-im-Pursuit-^of^-the^-J^ygeian-t- (goddess. 

The glorious sun will rise and set, 

The purling streamlets ripple too, 
The silvery moon in silence yet 

Its endless midnight path pursue ; 
The starry gems that deck the skies, 

Still emit their feeble light, 
And through the azure vault on high, 

Shine the bright vigilants of night. 

The birds within the leafy groves, 

Will still repeat their matin song, 
And in cooing strain of artless love, 

Ke-echoed by the happy throng ; 
And there within that sylvan shade, 

There happy peace forever reigns. 
The fairy goddess — artless maid, 

Reclines amid the rapturous strains. 

Here Hygeia 'neath the twilight crest, 

Is sought in evening shades alone ; 
Is calmly found, the goddess blest, 

Keclining on her flowery throne, 
There within this vine-clad vale. 

She plucks the flowers sweet and new; 
The soothing fragrance does inhale. 

And fondly sups the nectarine dew. 

And here with gifted power divine. 

The healing art to man disclose. 
Extracting from the flowery vine. 

The anodyne that soothes his woes ; 
And there beneath the umbrage deep, 

Where fajis wondrous branches spread, 
Phytologi in calmness sleeps. 

Eeclining on her mossy bed. 

56 



LINUS TOWNS END. 



57 



Go stranger, break the solitude, 

The halo of her deep repose, 
The goddess of the sylvan wood 

May then the secret art disclose. 
Place a laurel on thy brow, 

To thee her magic charm impart. 
And thus unconsciously bestow 

The secrets of the healing art. 




•-J^-l'lie-j-Eiicliarited-t-Qrote.-s::- 

Invested by a sublime theme, 
My soul is sad oppressed, 

Before a nymph, a matchless queen, 
My heart now stands confessed. 

Allured by an enchanter's wand, 
Into love's sacred grove, 

Where sirens fill enchanted air. 
With enrapturing songs of love. 

Through this far off secluded grove, 
Untainted streamlets flow, 

And on their mossy covered banks, 
Unfading flowers grow. 

There ever blooming lillies grow, 
4f' Bathed by the salient spray, 

And cupid midst the glittering shells, 
Wiles the sunny time away. 

The turtle dove out on the hill. 
Pours forth its plaintive notes. 

And on those airy currents wild 
The gentle echo floats. 

And here the little busy bee. 
Basks in the evening light, 

And the chirping of the katydid 
Breaks on the stilly night. 

Venus within this fairy court. 
Here reigns a royal queen. 

With brushes in her lily hands, 
To paint the bowers green. 

She bears the golden scepter bright. 
With her bright magic sway ; 

She makes the gloomy darkness bright, 
And midnight turns to day. 

58 



LINUS TO WNSEND. 59 

Discord has never found a place 

In this abode of peace, 
And rumor's ever busy tongue 

Must here forever cease. 

In ecstasy within those gates. 

My muse now stands alone, 
Listening to those sylvan notes, 

And Venus on the throne. 

Hearkning to the carols sweet, 

Out on a neighboring tree, 
And to a gaudy butterfly 

In matchless colors free. 

Oh, had I the swift swallow's wing. 

Or the pinions of a dove, 
I'd wing far from this land of sin, 

And rest on banks of love. 

I'd recline beneath the downy shades, 

And listen to these strains ; 
And breathe alone the balmy air. 

That sweeps these flowery plains. 

I would there await the light footsteps 

Out in the sacred grove, 
Instinct with peace and happiness, 

Of harmony and love. 



Dear little bird, why this alarm ? 

Thy notes are filled with fear, 
Hast thou espied an enemy. 

Impending danger near? 
Has your ever watchful, peering, 

Timid, sparkling little eye. 
Caught thy dread foe, the falcon, 

High soaring in the sky. 

Hast thou given the alarm 

To that friend you hold most dear, 
That your foe, your mutual enemy, 

Is hovering quite near ? 
Or, are these notes of terror, 

Expressed to notify. 
Your tender, helpless offspring. 

That danger is so nigh ? 

Oh, how dearly I do love you, 

My little f leathered friend. 
Come, oh, come, stay quite near me. 

Protection I will lend. 
1^0 danger shall assail thee, 

As long as I am near, 
Attune thy notes in tenderness, 

Dispel a useless fear. 

Stay ! plume your downy feathers now, 

Whilst high up in the air. 
Your dread foe of the upper deep. 

So gracefully eddies there. 
I thought midst the bowers evergreen. 

That thou wert ever free ; 
That sorrow, care and burning sighs 

Alone belonged to me. 

60 



LINUS TOWNSEND, Gl 

That nature had prepared for thee 

A spacious vernal throne ; 
That dread emburdenmg care and tears 

Belonged to man alone; 
That thy fragrant bowers were ever green, 

Made sweet with fading flowers ; 
That instinct shared thy home with thee, 

And vaunting reason ours. 




•-^^Iminensity.-^:- 



Immensity, that boundless field, 

Conception's never spanned ; 
Nor science with its chosen corps, 

Has reached its distant strand. 
The frontiers of this boundless waste ; 

This all mysterious plain, 
On wings of light has been explored, 

Revealing — awful space. 

The probe of man has tried to reach 

Its secret depths in vain ; 
The waves of time have ne'er been spent 

Upon this shoreless main ; 
The coral caves beneath its depths 

For aye remain unseen. 
From boundless coasts times ceaseless waves 

Sublimely roll between. 

The blue etherial arch that spans 

This spacious starry dome, 
No murky clouds e'er float between, 

With shades of distant gloom. 
There silence reigns, forever reigns 

In sublime majesty. 
And sways a ceaseless scepter o'er 

A grand immensity. 

But angel wings o'erspread alone, 

And span its boundaries o'er ; 
God's infinite spirit fills its dome, 

Etherial sea frooi shore to shore. 
No sun unfolds its ruby light ; 

Nor darkness lingers here, 
But the brisjhtness of Jehovah's throne 

Is noonday of the endless year. 

G2 



-►Ji^]^eW<-year-M-lSS8.-^- 



A kind welcome, Mr: Eighty-Three, you are here at last, 

"We have been expecting you for months and weeks thats past. 

We are happy now to greet you ; to meet you face to face ; 

With our adieus to Mr. Eighty-Two, as you assume his place. 

Our old friend now is leaving us, with the archives of the year. 

And on the revolving wheels of time, soon will disappear. 

A happy, cordial welcome, to you, Mr. Eighty-Three, 

But sadly we'll mourn o'er our old friend that is gone ; 

O'er the happy days we have spent in him, we'll mourn, 

And o'er the gloomy respite, that he will ne'er return ; 

In the dark shades of oblivion he'll reside, 

Where the turbid waters of the Lethe rolls its sluggish tide; 

Soon to be forgotten, our old friend has passed away ; 

With many a bumper we will cheer the happy new year day. 

In the diary of our departed friends there's many a gloomy page, 

Which his successors sympathies never can assuage; 

Darkened with sad episodes that time can ne'er efface, 

The volume of departed year in sadness finds a place. 

Now with fond expectations, we rub our hands with glee, 

At what the glorious coming year has in store for me. 

Our day-dreams are filled with prospect of riches and renown, 

And with flowers of a gaudy hue along our pathway strewn. 

Sycophants may fawn around us, with an air of friendship true, 

And allure us with colors of a gay and gaudy hue ; 

And gently awaken from the dreamy apathy, with visions dilate, 

To find it all delusions, when alas ! it is too late. 

The siren's song may beguile us into labyrinth o'ergrown. 

And when in our dillema soothe us in a mournful tone. 

The successor of the passing year has its pages now to fill, 

And the cruel hand of destiny is ready with his quill. 

Awaiting with relentless hand, to record each stern decree, 

That erratic and inconsistent fate may serve on you and me. 



63 



Oh, come, come kind dispensing fate; 

Oh, come before it is too late, 
And bear me to some lonely shade, 

Where white men's feet have never tread. 

Where sparkling, purling waters meet ; 

Oh, bear me to this lone retreat ; 
Where flowers bloom and woodbines twine, 

And say that lone retreat is mine. 

Where birds carol their notes serene. 
Amidst those shades of living green, 

The sparkling dew-drops shining near. 
Kind nature drops the lonely tear. 

When nature weeps, she weeps alone, 
Those jeweled tears are all her own ; 

The sighs she breathes are heartfelt sighs,* 
Her heart's a depth of sympathies. 

Midst charms like those, oh, sublime ray. 
In scenes like these I long to stray ; 

In nature's wild's I long to dwell ; 
To art's restraints would bid farewell. 

There life's inhaled without restraint ; 

Bright streamlets gushing without taint ; 
There truth and friendship safely rove, 

Enraptured with the songs of love. 

64 



^J^^j^n Innate Qenius I^ecogni^edrs^- 

B. C. Chambers is his name, 

He is known far and wide ; 
He is not apt to go on foot, 

When he has a horse to ride ; 
He travels some by railroad train, 

He loves to go by steam, 
And when he's out with patent rights, 

He drives a double team. 

He has a talent to invent. 

And is a success too, 
He adds to devices of the day, 

AVith something quaint and new. 
With all his new inventions. 

Discoveries and plans, 
He stands before the world to day 

An honest, upright man. 

He is not confined to hay-forks, 

Motors or easy running saws ; 
But for many useful articles 

Receives the world's applause. 
He alleviates the toil of man, 

To progress lends a wheel. 
And developes the art and science 

In many a varied field. 

Ben has a rough exterior. 

But a heart of friendship true ; 
A soul, my friends, within him, 

That no one ever knew ; 
Endowed with innate faculty, 

That enables him to scan, 
And unfold mysterious principles, 

Before unknown to man. 

6? 



66 ORIGINAL POEMIS. 

One thing now we'll mention here, 

A triumph of his skill, 
The Columbiana priming sequel, 

Of the planing mill ; 
This far-famed invention 

Is based upon a plain, 
With uprights nicely spaced along, 

Its pinions to sunstain. 

Here the wheels are equiposed, 

And balanced with a care ; 
The innate tact of cunning Ben 

Has nicely x^laced them there. 
With potent wheels to accelerate, 

Or modify the speed, 
Whilst dual mutes are standing near 

To regulate the feed. 

A little wheel along the plane. 

Appears to stand alone, 
With bristles placed along the edge, 

That tips its dainty cone ; 
Its office there's to paint the board. 

To make it smooth and clean, 
Whilst a feeder back along the plane 

Fast drives the plank between. 

The man who feeds inserts the boai f/i, 

While standing at one end; 
Full soon it comes humming througl i' 

Unto a waiting friend. ^ 

The lumber's planed and painted, 

With a surface smooth complete ; 
Oh, this machine of Benjamin's 

The world can never beat. 



4 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 67 

Ben's elevating horse hay-fork, ' 

The world it mnst concede, 
For utilitarian principles, 

That it must take the lead. 
Of all the famous devices, 

Or attempts to fill the bill, 
The one produced by Benjamin, 

Kemains the boss one still. 

His motor, too, is a success— 

A peculiar device ; 
You have a key to wind it upj 

And then it runs so nice ; 
It has no hands, but with a key 

You start it like a clock, 
And on something like a dial plate, 

The lady puts her stock. 

Without her feet upon the tread. 

Away goes the machine ; 
Whilst the goods within the sewer's hand 

Are hurried through between ; 
Humming on with magic speed 

The wheels around do fly, 
Whilst the lady on an, easy chair, 

Is calmly sitting nigh. 

The ladies are all in ecstasies, 

It relieves them of the tread. 
And gives my shrewd, ingenious friend 

A happy chance to wed. 
The ladies all now flatter him 

And treat him nice and kind ; 
And with their smiles an^ open arms, 

Receive him as divine. 



68 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Upon his easy running saw 

AVe have one word to say ; 
If fairly placed upon the stand, 

Will surely gain the day ; 
When you have put its armor on, 

The cranks begin to move ; 
The saw then flies with lightning speed 

Up and down the grooves. 

All those who have it now in use 

Are loath with it to part ; 
The cadence of its whirring cranks 

Is music to the heart ; 
Brings smiles unto their weary cheeks, 

As it cuts the yielding pine ; 
Oh, Benjamin he ameliorates — 

His art is pure, divine. 

My friend turns many a busj^ wheel 
With ease and comfort now, 

And elevates our hay away 
In safety to the mow. 

The subtle genius of my friend 
Alleviates our toil, 

And those who feel his bounty most, 

Are the tillers of the soil. 
« 

One thing more and my plaintive poem 

I'll bring unto a close, 
And leave my kind, artistic friend, 

To fame and rustic prose ; 
And hope that he will now receive 

A meed of patronage ; 
Whilst I retire behind the screen, 

And leave the classic stage. 



i 



--^^^Life's Deserted I^cad.4> 

Sad and drear we found the road 

Through life's deserted waste ; 
Chill we found the autumn wind, 

And cold the wint'ry blast. 
Scant flowers we saw bloom along, 

But they grew wide apart ; 
Their buds tinged with golden hues, 

But poison in their heart. 

"We heard the birds sing siren songs ; 

Saw nymphs in shadows stray, 
And gentle zephyrs float along 

Upon the sunlit spray ; 
Appalling tempests too, arise. 

And thunder roaring loud ; 
The thickening gloom in darkness hide 

The silver lining of the cloud. 

"We saw the vivid lightning flash 

And break the pallid gloom,^ 
Disclosing with its mystic light 

The horrors of the tomb ; 
In which were sank our cherished hopes, 

Down in that yawning deep, 
Where dread oppression's lulled in death — 

Is hushed in endless sleep. 

We've often turned aside again, 

To view the grassy mound ; 
To mingle tears with native dews., 

That strew the sacred ground ; 
Strewn there to nourish budding seed, 

That angel hands have sown, 
Where wreaths — immortal wreaths — are twined 

By spirits bright unknown. 

69 



70 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Tliorns and thistles thickly grew 

Entangling in our way ; 
Whilst in slimy fold, amidst the vines 

The deadly reptile lay. 
Angels, the while, inviting us 

Unto a banquet spread ; 
Eut we coldly turned away, 

By brighter fancies led. 

When life and health were all aglow. 

And streams were smooth and clear, 
"We boldly spanned the sparkling tide, 

No frowning danger near. 
Along the coasts lay countless hosts, 

On flowery beds of ease. 
Whilst many, many sufferers tossed, 

The victims of disease. 

With the poisoned, barbed misfortunes, 

Rankling deep within our breast, 
And by deep corroding sorrow. 

And sadness long oppressed ; 
With no kind friend to soothe our woes^ 

As we there prostrate lay ; 
There all alone, no friendly hand 

To wipe our tears away. 




^^^Crispin.'S> 

Crispin sits upon his bench, 

In never ceasing toil, 
And pegs away on boots and shoes, 

Whilst others till the soil. 
He eats and drinks like other men, 

And lives on dainties rare ; 
But always has to make two shoes, 

Before he gets a pair. 

He waxes well his flaxen thread. 

To make the seams fit tight ; 
But when its dark he cannot see, 

Unless he has a light. 
He can fit you a boot so trim, 

And he does always try, 
And takes a sup of something good 

If he is feeling dry. 

Oh, Jacob he's a dainty man, 

Has a mustasche on his lip. 
He closes up his seams so tight. 

That they can never rip. 
He has a cozy little house, 

The place he calls his shop ; 
The pipe that bears the smoke away, 

Kuns clear up to the top. 

Like other men to keep him warm. 

He wears boots upon his feet; 
Has pictures pasted on the wall 

To make the thing look neat ; 
Has children too, that sport around. 

He loves to hear them squall. 
And Jacob he's just five feet-eight, 

He is not so very tall, 

71 



72 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

He is living on a public road ; 

Sees people passing by, 
But never fools his time away, 

He has other fish to fry. 
You always find him on the bench, 

He seldom spends a day, 
But when he goes a sporting 

He drives a little bay. 

When you send him boots to mend, 

Its done without delay ; 
He always wants the money down, 

When you take the boots away. 
Jacob is a handy man. 

He knows a thing or two ; 
He knows just how to crimp a boot, 

Or peg a sole upon a shoe. 

Jacob's stock is nice and smooth, 

His leather's good and tough ; 
You will find when he sets up a job, 

His bills are big enough. 
He wears his buttons down the front. 

As other people do, 
But when you want a pair of boots, 

He's the man to put them through. 

"We kindly ask you all to call, 

Examine for yourselves ; 
The boots and shoes are hard to beat. 

That lie upon his shelves. 
We are going to say before we close, 

That rhymes are always true, 
There's comfort in a well-made boot. 

And a light nice fitting shoe. 



,-. --Ji^^-t-l'ribute.-i^- 



The attributes of God are manjr ; 

Not confined to man alone, 
It is not but one single gem, 

That ornaments the throne ; 
IS'or to the glittering stars above, 

That decorate the night, 
I^Tor is his glory confined to 

The sun that gives us light. 

There is no place so far away 

His glories cannot reach. 
And there is no insect so minute 

A lesson cannot teach. 
The cricket chirps his humble notes, 

From beneath a sod, 
Acknowledging in its dull song, 

The raptures of its God. 

There is nothing so inanimate, 

But claims an ample share, 
And from omniscient sympathy 

Always finds a care ; 
There is nothing we can see or hear 

But God has wisely made. 
And many mutes, his handiwork. 

We crush beneath our tread. 

There is nothing here that we behold 

But plainly shows his skill, 
And man alone is callous 

And recreant to his will ; 
Still he confers on man his gifts 

And his mercies do extend, 
Whilst we fail to recognize his might, 

Or treat him as a friend. 

73 



-^^I'lie Hzsm.^- 



Mother take up our little girl, 

Upon her cheek's, a tear ; 
Do* gently take her in your aims, 

Aud soothe a childish fear. 

"Wipe away those unbidden tears, 

And gently do your part ; 
I fear the cankering buds of care 

Are blooming in her heart. 

It is too soon for her to feel 

The sorrows of the day ; 
Do kindly take her in your arms, 

And brush her tears away. 

Soothe her into smiles again, 

Within your fond embrace, 
And twine those sacred wreaths of love, 

Sad lineaments deface. 

She is a tender plant that we 
Must raise with gentle care ; 

The angel guard that hovers o'er 
Is always watching near. 

On the light breeze of dewy morn, 
They spread their pinions bright ; 

They sleepless make their silent rounds 
And guard her through the night. 

Those tender smiles and rosy cheeks, 
Are charms that will repay ; 

Oh, take her in your arms again, 
And kiss her tears away. 

74 



'--^^I'o-t-tilie-^PubliCri^- 



Dear friends, my life is sad and lonely, 

But God has willed it so — 
That he kindly cheers me on the way 

Is enough for me to know. 

My tongue is mute, I cannot speak, 

I'm deaf, I cannot hear. 
And the glorious sounds that cheer you on. 

Fall listless on my ear. 

I pray your tender sympathies. 

You'll kindly show to me, 
I bear afSiction's galling load, 

Whilst you are going free. 

Oh, love! my speechless tongue, 
Has never breathed that word, 

And the tones of sweet affection, 
My ears have never heard. 

My tongue is mute and speechless, 

A dull, unconscious ear, 
A body weakened with disease, 

Is why you find me here. 

I am here to court your bounty, 

Give me the widow's mite, 
That seemed so very glorious 

Within the Saviour's sight, 

I ask in speechless prayer. 

Protection from above ; 
That through your genial bounty, 

You'll gain a Saviour's love. 

75 



76 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Pray do not regard me with distrust, 
To meet in death, our God we must; 

To receive protection from on high, 
Or merit salvation when we die. 

Always through life I've anxious strove, 
To merit friendship peace and love. 

This night we'll part to meet no more 
Upon this earth's cold sterile shore ; 

But on heaven's bright and flowery plain, 
I hope that we will meet again. 



"■^^^^^-^^ 



•^poi?-miK-£Ibum.'i> 

Dear friend it was a happy chance, 

The day on which we met ; 
And when again we parted, 

A day of deep regret. 
We now in sadness turn again 

To that eventful day, 
When on relentless iron wheels 

Our friends were borne away ; 
But I hope we shall meet 

In the sweet time coming soon, 
Where death can never part us. 

And friends we shall remain. 



-^Ylic-t-]V[igratory-t-Birds.-?> 

Oh, my little downy transient friends, 

I nov/ do calmly wait, 
To hear thy tender notes again, 

Thy songs reiterate ; 
Eecline beneath this bending shade 

Once more to hear thee sing, 
Eepeat to me those hallowed notes, 

Sweet melodies of Spring. 

Becall once more those memories dear, 

I fear forever flown, 
Like thee, about to take their flight 

Unto a land unknown. 
Ah, sweet sad relics of the past, 

Upon thy notes are borne. 
Like thee, perhaps, to bid adieu, 

And never to return. 

Dear birds why has your warbling ceased? 

Why not their notes prolong? 
Or has the cold autumnal breeze, 

Chilled the music of your song? 
Has the fading flowers around thee, 

Produced a dreary shade ? 
As we no longer hear thy notes. 

Re-echo in the glade. 

And has the bleak autumnal wind 

Broke Summer's calm repose. 
And chilled for aye the rippling fount, 

O'er which thy music flows? 
Or has the nectar of the flowers. 

Become so cold and dry ; 
Has failed to soothe thy flattering tongues. 

Is this the reason why? 

77 



78 ORIGINAL POEMS, 

Or have tliy little bounding hearts 

Eecome impressed with fear, 
At the transient flight of Summer, 

Cold Winter drawing near ? 
Or is it from the sombre hue 

That now the scene pervades, 
That you withhold the Summer song 

That cheered the lonely glades ? 

The fragrance of the flower has ceased 

In me to have a charm ; 
And notes to me once music sweet, 

Now fill me with alarm. 
Oh, it looks to me through Autumn haze, 

That Summer has lost a shade. 
And it makes my heart grow weary, 

To see the flower fade. 
To h^"^^ thp chill Autumnal woods, 

1 ow rustl3 in tl e breeze ; 
To sev:5 Ux^ sere and yellow leaf 

Now mark the forest trees ; 
To here their early matins cease 

To animate the grove, 
Unstrings in me those tenoer chords 

That's thrilled by songs of love. 




-^•^PI^I^r(5.J 



?> 



The flowery spring again is nigh, 

We hear the bluebird's song ; 
The blackbird with its sparkling eye. 

The new-made furrows throng. 
The w^eary ploughman's anxious turns 

The fertile furrows deen ; 
The blackbirds his unt in; friends^ 

The daily vigils keep. 
They gather up their scanty meal, 

Or flaunt upon the wing, 
And cheer the lonely ploughman, 

With endearing notes of spring. 
In sable coats of shining black, 

God has kindly sent them here, 
With a glowing message on the wing, 

That spring is drawing near. 

The peAvit in some shady nook. 

Sly plumes his painted crest. 
Or seeks for some bold jutting crag, 

On which to fix his nest ; 
Assisted by his loving mate. 

Secures a safe retreat, 
High o'er some wildwood rippling stream, 

Where purling waters meet. 

The jaybird on the swinging limb, 

Inhales the zephyrs light ; 
And the shrill-voiced, lonely whippoi'vall. 

Awakes the stilly night. 
The robin in some lonely vale, 

Bright cheers the hazy morn ; 
The eddying lark high over head, 

Proclaims the roseat dawn. 

79 



ORIGINAL POEMS, 

The swallow on its airy wing 

Skims o'er the grassy lea. 
And sips for aye the salient spray, 

On downy pinions free. 
Late from a far and unknown clime, 

AVhere reigns eternal Spring ; 
The magic of its Southern home 

Inflates his buoyant wing. 

The pigeon high up in the air, 

Floats on transporting wing ; 
He seeks a home in some lone vale. 

To while away the Spring ; 
And there amidst the bowers green, 

He woos a tender mate, 
Then coos the happy time aAvay, 

Within that lone ratreat. 

And there secures an artless nest, 

Within the shady grove ; 
To hie the balmy spring away, 

In cooing strains of love. 
The subtle crow on lazy wing, 
.Skims o'er the waving grain, 
Tg scent the yielding carrion, 

That swelters on the plain ; 

And when his maw is satiate, 

He mounts a neighboring tree. 
Where odors of his dainty feast. 

Foul scents the drifting lea. 
Unto his chosen banquet 

He turns from day to day, 
And in the crow vernacular. 

He caws the Spring away. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 81 

It makes no difFei^ence on the crow, 

Let it be Fall or Spring ; 
He has no voice for giving praise, 

No carols he can sing. 
The icy chains of Winter's broke, 

The streams again are free ; 
Full buds now mark Spring's early dawn, 

Upon the forest tree. 

The thrifty apple tree sends forth 

A bright and fragrant bloom, 
And o'er the sparkling landscape wide, 

It spreads a rich perfume. 
The budding flower unfolds its charms, 

To welcome coming Spring ; 
The echo of a countless choir 

Now makes the welkin ring. 




-^•^lI]V[]^EI^.i.- 



Sweet Summer thou art here again, 

Springtime has soilly flown, 
And thou hast o'er the fertile mead 

Thy verdant mantle thrown ; 
Loved Summer thou art here once more. 

We heard thy gentle tread, 
The rustling of thy emerald folds, 

E're sweet Spring had fted. 

Thou'rt coaxing into tender life, 

The fragile flower again, 
Ann spreading o'er with Brussels green, 

The bleak and arid plain ; 
Tipping the nude and lifeless boughs 

With buds of living green. 
And sowing thick with genial seed 

The spaces left between. 

Enchanting with thy fairy touch 

The sylvan sheltered bower. 
Diffusing well with luc'ar sweet, 

The wild secluded l'ov>'er. 
Oh ! Summer in thy mystic flight 

Out o'er the hill and plain, 
Thou'rt sped with onward hearty cheers, 

By many happy swains. 

Those countless gems left blooming hero. 

Are from seed that you have soAvn, 
And the blushing; flowers growing near, 

Are products of your own ; 
Those sheltering bowers too, are thine. 

Out in the forest grove. 
And those low moaning, plaintive sounds, 

The cooing of the dove. 



LINU^ TOWNSEND, S3 

iDcipient rc"-'> f,ith tender blades, 

j^ow diecKers many a field ; 
The anxious swain already grasps 

The cherished golden yield. 
The ripening sere and wavy grain, 

Surged by the pennate breeze, 
Artistic wreaths they mutual twine, 

Hare foliage decks the trees. 

Oh 1 Summer thou art free to roam, 

Out o'er this beauteous scene ; 
The brush is still within thy hand. 

That paints the landscape green ; 
The birds still cheer thee with their song. 

In notes so blithe and gay. 
And diamonds sparkle in the dew, 

Or dance in salient spray. 

Oh, when the glorious Summer — • 

The green begins to fade, 
And the cold hard hand of Autumn, 

Is stretched out o'er the glade ; 
And Summer when thy day declines, 

And fields ^u-e turning gray ; 
And the flowers in their early bloom; 

Begin to fade away. 

Then Summer we will mourn for thae. 

To think that thou art flow^n, 
And that upon thy sacred ruins 

Harsh Autumn rears his throne. 
We then will mourn in midnight dreams, 

To think that thou art daad, 
And that thy glorious prestige 

Has too forever fled. 



84: ORIGINAL POEMS. 

We'll dream of thee sad midnight dreams, 

"When we are lulled in sleep ; 
When the wakeful stars above our heads 

Alone can see us weep ; 
We will sorrow in thy absence then 

And sorely will complain, 
To know the birds have ceased to sin;;;, 

No green grass on the plain. 

To know the fields have ceased to bloom, 

Their birds so soon have flown ; 
The genial seed lies torpid now, 

Thy grateful hand had sown. 
We know you will return again, 

In garments fresh and new, 
And that thy fields will bloom again, 

And W'Car their wanton hue. 

The levying herds v^ill crop again 

The yielding herbage green, 
And the glorious brush of Summer 

Paint new the lovely scene. 
Summer we know when you return 

In absence you will fiind, 
A many a one not here to greet 

That you have left behind. 

And the strong hand that sowed and reaped 

Lies mouldering in the grave, 
And the nude and leafless branches now, 

In silence o'er him wave. 
You will find a many a dimpled cheek 

Has lost its roseate hue, 
And a pallor has succeeded it ^ 

Since last we met with you, i 



LINVS TOWN SEND. 85 

Dread sorrow in thy absence long, 

Has corroded furrows deep, 
And eyes unknown to burning tears, 

Since then have learned to weep. 
Some, 'tis true, still laugh and sing, 

As they have done of yore. 
But the strings on which I loved to play 

Will sound for me no more. 

My tuneful harp of many strings 

In sadness I've unstrung. 
And on a blurred Autumnal branch 

Its cheerless cords are hung. 
I'll tune this hapless lyre no more^ 

My Summer days are fled, 
My heart has ceased to pulsate free^ 

And hope's forever dead. 



Dull Autumn with its sombre shade, 

Is now fast drawing near, 
Slow marking the declining sun ; 

The sadest of the year. 
November's cold, cold chilly blast, 

Will soon sweep o'er the plain, 
And soon the sere and yellow leaf 

Will come to us again. 

The budding flowers happy bloom, 

Will now soon lose a shade ; 
The roseate dahlia in the lawn, 

Will too begin to fade ; 
The lucious fruit upon the tree. 

Will lose its Summer hold, 
And thickly strewn the grassy lea, 

A treasure will unfold. 

The busy bee will seek its home, 

Upon a trembling wing ; 
And 'neath the blurred and yellow leaf 

We'll hear the cricket sing; 
Unseen we'll hear its hidden notes, 

Dull from its secret lair ; 
Unseen we'll hear its plaintive song. 

The saddest of the year. 

The lowing herds upon the fields, 

That crop the herbage green ; 
The weary ploughman on his way 

Makes up the rustic scene ; 
As the weary ploughman too. 

Drives slow his tired team. 
The sun en wreathed in golden hue, 

Transports the rustic theme. 

16 



LINUS TOWNSEND. - 67 

The rustling of the ripening corn 

Brings on a lonely thrill, 
But hope inspires our drooping hearts 

That Summer's present still. 
The sun may change its Summer tints, 

And shed a duller ray, 
And murky clouds come drifting by, 

And bear its charms away. 

The sylvan songster of the grove 

May too away have flown ; 
Mid-air pursued his trackles flight, 

Where Autumns are unknown. 
Where he, within some flowery dell, 

May sing his song anew, 
And from perennial floral cups, 

Sip still the morning dew. 

Oh say, can we when Spring is gone, 

And Autumn sad appears ; 
Can we renew on airy wing 

The summer of our years? 
Can we renew the flowery plain, 

Now strewn with fallen leaves. 
Recall to life and bloom again, 

Those bound and withered sheave? 

Tell me has waning life no spring ; 

No budding seed, no bloom ; 
No sun to melt the Wint'ry pall, 

Cold covering of the tomb? 
To climb on wing, with pinion light. 

The baldric fabric of the air. 
Clothed with transporting tissue bright, 

No transit to an endless year ? 



88 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

iN'ow Summer's gone, a sombre garb 

The frowning present wears ; 
Clothed in sere and yellow leaves, 

Dread Autumn now appears. 
Cold, chilly winds sweep o'er the fields, 

And murky clouds peer down, 
And slow their dusky shadows steal 

Across the sterile ground. 

Those murky, dull Autumnal clouds. 

Have settled o'er the glade ; 
Before those damp and chilly winds 

The tender flowers fade ; 
There's now no songsters in the grove. 

To wake the sleeping morn, 
!N"o Summer flowers are budding near, 

The passage to adorn. 

Beauty like cherished flowers of June, 

Soon fades and flies away, 
And youth like balmy, budding Spring, 

Assumes as short a stay ; 
Manhood, like Autumn, quickly wanes, 

And falls like leaves around, 
Kambling instead o'er sunny fields, 

We tread on frozen ground. 

Old age, like hoary Winter comes, 

Clothed in cheerless mien. 
For cherished hopes forever gone 

He daily seeks in vain ; 
Forever lost, lies buried deep. 

Beneath whose sacred pall. 
O'er which the Summer flowers bloom, 

The leaves of Autumn fall. 



-^WljIl'EI^.-^ 



Cold Winter now is here again, 

Snow flakes are in the air ; 
Tlie fields are heaped with snowy down, 

The roads with icy glare ; 
The angry winds in currents wild, 

Sweeps o'er the hill and dale, 
And close within its dreary wake, 

Low drifts the evening gale. 

The snowbird swift on airy wing, 

Flits through the thorny grove ; 
The partridge on the naked bough 

Safe spends the day above ; 
The rabbit too, with noiseless tread. 

Light marks the yielding snow, 
And seeks within some downy sedge, 

A safe retreat below. 

The cunning fox with stealthy mien, 

Roams o'er the Wint'ry waste. 
And wily sniffs the drifting air. 

And seeks a dainty feast ; 
Perhaps a rabbit sheltering near. 

Unconscious of the foe ; 
Who gaily trips with easy tread 

And lightly marks the snow. 

Wliile sleeping still and happy too, 

Within its sheltered lair, 
Unconscious of the dire approach 

Of death, close lingering near ; 
A fated leap — the scene is closed. 

The victim's life is o'er, 
And greedy saps the vital fount, 

That yields the dripping gore. 



90 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Lo ! in the dreary barnyard now 

The cattle stoop with cold ; 
The sheep fi*om bleating in the field, 

Are housed within the fold ; 
The chickens close in sorry groups 

Avoid the "Wint'ry chill ; 
The duck shut out by thickening ice, 

Has left the neighboring rill. 

With rusty tires the wagon stands, 

With frosty fetters bound ; 
And far out in the Wint'ry wind 

The merry sleigh-bells sound ; 
The clattering of light iron hoofs 

Sounds o'er the icy plain, 
Eecalling those old Wint'ry scenes 

To renewed life again. 

Alas ! those glorious scenes of youth, 

Are now forever flown ; 
Like Summer birds on zephyr wings, 

To distant realms unknown. 
Adieu ! long parted, cherished scenes, 

The sleigh-bells' happy tone, 
Along this cold Wint'ry path 

We weary tread alone. 

As the imprisoned schoolboy now 
% Emerges bounding free, 

He leaves the gloomy hall behind, 

And shouts with happy glee ; 
And mounts the highest snow-drift near, 

That yields beneath his feet ; 
*Then wends his weary homeward way," 

Through drifting snow and sleet. 



LINUS TO WNSEND, 91 

The snow-balls now fly thick and fast, 

Sped on by busy hands ; 
Whilst on the stoop, far, far behind, 

The shivering teacher stands, 
He contemplates low in the West, 

The sun's declining ray. 
And softly breathes, "a day has flown/ 

'' Then homeward wends his way." 

'Tis done, another day has gone. 
We sadly contemplate ; 

The glorious sun's within its fold 
And closed its Wintr'y gate ; 

In the deep cavern of the West 
It whiles the night away. 

Until the morning twilight breaks- 
Unfolds another day. 

Aurora, the empyrean gates 

On golden hinges swing, 
And angels in the morning ray 

Their glorious anthems sing; 
The sublime entry of the day. 

Lights- up the eastern ski-.^s, 
Then o'er the deep cerulean wa,Bt€ 

The sun's winged chariot flies. 

Sweet Spring thou'rt gone, forever gone, 

Absent I love thee still, 
One cord unstrung within my heart 

Notes yet thy magic thrill ; 
No more the bird's wild plaintive song, 

Will wake me with its strain, 
Nor o'er the green, green grassy fields, 

Will pluck the flower again. 



92 • ORIGINAL F0EM8. 

Oh, sweet Spring, those flqjvers we love, 

Have withered on the stem, 
Cold icy Winter's stole away 

Our bright and peerless gem ; 
Within our hearts the rankling thorn, 

The barb's corroding there, 
The stern wild wind has swept away 

The prize we held so dear. 

We fondly fan thee, transient gleam, 

That lights our youthful breast, 
With anxious strides pursues alone. 

The one we love the best. 
Soon as we tread on slippery ground. 

The light will disappear, 
A scornful laugh out in the gloom, 

Is all that we can hear. 

This life is closed with Wintry Fceiies, 

With storm clouds drifting ni^h, 
No Spring flowers are blooming near. 

The snow-flakes eddy high ; 
The twilight gleam of life's bri^'ht f'r.y, 

Fades dark in Wint'ry gloom. 
No genial ray to waft away 

The prestige of the tomb. 



^^i^£n-t.Jiour->£i'norig-t-the-t-'foinbs.-^: 

'Twas not long since I stood alone, 
While bright the sun in glory shone ; 
Alone among the silent graves, 
Wliere sad the lonely cedar waves. 
Where friends and foes in peace now sleep 
Low down within those caverns deep. 
Alone among those silent tombs, 
Where the bright rose in sadness blooms. 

The sedgy grass now covers o'er 
The eye thats closed to weep no more ; 
The heart imbued with sorrow keen 
'Now sleeps beneath its covering green; 
The soul has sought Jehovah's throne, 
And left the sleeper here alone ; 
The spirit away alone has fled 
And left the mansions of the dead. 

The temple that the spirit filled 
In icy fetters now is chilled ; 
The heart that beat when fondly pressed, 
Now finds beneath a peaceful rest. 
The hand that sought, but not in vain, 
The golden links that formed the chain 
That bound fond hearts with silken ties, 
Here now beneath impassive lies. 

Those feet that once so active trod, 
Now find calm rest beneath the sod ; 
Oh grave ! oh grave ! how silent thou. 
How sacred calm thy precinct now ; 
So far away from this cold world 
Thy floral banners are unfurled ; 
But God's all-seeing, searching eye 
Will pierce the depths in which they lie, 

93 



94 - ORIGINAL POEMS. 

I wandered there — was all alone, 

And kneeled before Death's gloomy throne^, 

And silence held my speechless tongue, 

My soul was there with pathos Avrung. 

I know that God's all-seeing eye, 

His spirit too was lingering nigh ; 

I did alone in silence tread, 

And calm beneath the sleeping dead. 

Serene beneath in deep repose 
Recline the pallid forms of those 
Who now on Death's cold bed recline, 
But once had active feet like mine ; 
Who sought like me for earthly gain, 
But long have slept — in peace have lain ; 
Like me had sought for temporal store, 
But now their transient dream is o'er. 

ISTow earth has lost its fairy charms ; 
Insidious fraud with folded arms 
Too, sought a place where it might rest ; 
The clammy bed it too has pressed : 
He sleeps a deej) eternal sleep, 
]^o mourners round o'er him to weep ; 
Eough hewn the walls, his bed between, 
Forever fades his golden dream. 

He left behind his golden store. 
On which in life he gloated o'er, 
And has in the cold grave reclined, 
Has left his golden stores behind ; 
Has passed away at Death's command, 
And left life's bright fairy strand, 
In transit o'er that fearful bourne 
From where the travelers ne'er return. 



LINUS TO WNSEND, m 



I wandered on in dreams profound, 
And softly trod on sacred ground ; 
My soul on feeble accents hung 
And gloom around her curtains flung. 
I moved along with solemn tread, 
Among those mansions of the dead ; 
I^o one was with me — was all alone, 
Before the grave's mysterious throne. 

I read on many a breathless stone, 
The names of those who sleep alone ; 
Quiet within those narrow cells, 
Where silent peace forever dwells. 
The Parian block still marks the spot 
Of him who has been long forgot ; 
Unto that mute and speachless stoiio 
His name and bed are only known. 

His names forgot, who offc in life 
Sought only peace — where busy strife, 
Where noise and turmoil and sad dismay 
Claimed all the triumphs of the daj'. 
There he was heard in accents sweet, 
And see in peace his busy feet ; 
He'd spread his peaceful banner o'er, 
But now that name is heard no more. 

Within this pale — this narrow spot. 
Unconscious lies, unknown, forgot ; 
There sweetly sleeps, forgot, unkno^vn, 
Without a friend — without a stone 
To mark the grave ; their lonely bed- 
Alone there numbered with the dead ; 
A sedgy pall now covers o'er 
The i/iave's insatiate hidden si :>v'\ 



96 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

I lingered still — enchanting spell, 
I love among the tombs to dwell ; 
There time's eternal arch o'er spread 
Those sacred temples of the dead. 
The vastness of Eternity 
Seemed unveiled — appeared io me, 
In sublime pathos made me pause : 
"As you are now, so once we was, 
As we are now, so must you be, 
Prepare for death and follow me." 



m^'^K^ 






(O^G- 



Dear friend on this unsullied page^ 

I'll trace an artless rhyme, 
That you may read my autograph, 

When in some distant clime ; 
When in the far, far distant west, 

In some broad fertile plain, 
And fancy spans the dreary waste, 

And seeks sweet home again. 

And there whilst busy on the plains. 

You'll live your childhood o'er, 
You'll plough and sow, and reap and hoe, 

And think of me no more. 
When you have had your work all done, 

And all your harvest through. 
You'll think of me ; the boiling spring, 

And of my last adieu. 



^^^Irrt-Me!nopy4'Cf4-GeceIis.-^Jacl^soii.^^" 

Cecelia thou art gone from us, 

We ■mouni for thee alone, 
Eut God has kindly taken theej 

Has claimed thee as his own ; 
The cherished gem's with ns no more, 

The transient spirit's fied — 
The image that we loved so well 

Lies mouldering with the dead. 

The hand of death's released thee 

From the torment of disease, 
And now thou'rt calmly sleeping 

In solitude and peace ; 
The dreamless sleep of death 

Has closed those tender eyes, 
And with its own mysterious charm 

Has soothed thy rending sighs. 

Oh, we have truly loved thee ; 

We love thy memory still, 
We would not stay that sacred hand, 

'Twas God's infinite will ; 
'Twas he who soothed thy suffering, 

'Tw^as he who brought you here ; 
We idolize the sacred trust ■ 

And shed for it a tear. 

We have a fond remembrance 

Engraven on our heart ; 
Each relic of thine's a token. 

From which we cannot part. 
The flowery almond claimed by thee, 

The midnight zephyrs wave, 
In kindness we'll transfer, 

And plant upon thy grave. 



98 ORiGINAL FOKMlS, 

We tliiiik we still can trace 

'J hy foot-prints in the sand^ 
And feel the gentle pressnre 

Of thy soft downy hand. 
Tlie. dimples in thy rosy cheek 

AVe never can forget, 
The smile npon thy cherry lips 

That we've in fondness met. 

Oh why should fond remembrance 

Be dimmed with dew and rust? 
Whilst the idol of parental love 

Lies mouldering in the dust. 
W e have loved this tender flower. 

And cherished it to bloom ; 
But now in tears we mourn for thee 

Who's sleeping in the tomb. 

Oh, we feel thy happ}^ spirit 

Jvlight still be lingering here, 
Sweetly basking in the zephyrs, 

That are calmly floating near ; 
We know thy gentle spirt 

Has forever passed away, 
And we dread a lonely wanderer, 

In the blue etherial spray. 

Oh ! away thou frantic moment, 

Now we are resigned again, 
The true theme is a Saviour's love, 

A bright and flowery plain. 
A home in heaven prepared for us, 

And the spirits of the blest, 
" Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest." 



•^^OMtuary-t-of-t-]V[ps. Willielmiiia-t-Jacl^sonr^- 

Death has spread its sable pall, 

The mighty conflict's o'er ; 
Amidst the busy scenes of life, 

She now is known no more ; 
No more this sad gloomy earth 

Her busy feet will tread, 
She has found a peaceful home, 

A mansion with the blest. 

No more the sympathetic sigh 

Will fill her heaving breast ; 
Within the silence of the tomb 

She hnds a peaceful rest. 
From her the tender charms of life 

Have forever passed away, 
And in the cavern of the tomb. 

She's sleeping quietly. 

Those sparkling, tearless orbs of her's, 

Once beaming with delight, 
Are closed, forever closed to us. 

In death's dark, eternal night. 
We see kind sympathizing friends 

Plant roses on her tomb. 
And fertile tears of sorrovv^ing love 

Will cause the flowers to bloom. 

The gentle midnight zephyrs 

Will linger on their way, 
And the cherished dews of heaven 

Will moisten with their spray. 
The empyrean seeds of tender love, 

Thick scattered o'er her tomb, 
The angels iu their midnight watch, 

Will cherish into bloom. 

91 



100 ORIGINAL POEMis. 

We feel our Saviour's given 

Her last and fond request, 
That her spirit might be numbered 

In heaven with the blest; 
And she might Avith the angels, 

Explore that glorious home ; 
And ever with the seraphs 

Stand around Jehovah's throne. 



'X^his dear little bird with its colors so gay, 

Appears on the wing to be passing aw^ay, 
AVith its neat little nest, in the bower so green. 

And the rosebuds surroundiog with the sheltering screen ; 
A butterfl}'- seems to be basking beneath ; 

The bird with its nest and the flowery wreath. 



Oh, tell me, will those enraptured scenes, 

Be forever shut out from my view ; 
And will my unhappy spirit alone, 

Be forced to seek for something new ; 
And will those ever sparkling rills 

Be in sadness lost to me ; 
When I have left their mossy bank, 

Will they still ripple free? 

My native hills and woodlands wild, 

That I have rambled o'er, 
Will still unfold their rural charms, 

When we are known no more ; 
The birds within the leafy groves. 

Will sing their songs anew, 
And win with artless notes, 

Confiding consorts too. 

The flowers they will blush and bloom, 

And bud out blithe and gay. 
And fill the air with fragrance sweet, 

When I am far away ; 
The rose will spread its rich perfume, 

And scent the drifting air ; 
And all will teem with life arid light, 

And I'll be absent far. 

The glorious sun may rise and set, 

On man}'^ a gloomy shade. 
And out o'er the verdant landscape. 

The lengthening shadows fade ; 
Thickening nights may spread o'er us, 

Her sable pall of gloom, 
And Ave upon a dreamless couch, . 

Sleep in the silent tomb. 



^J'^^^-'Inbutevto-t-Cirti'iipcterice.-^- 

Could Ave appro;' I'll that g'itterii\'.,- '..Jioiie, 
Tnat's filled by Tliee, tlioii prrt ar anknown ; 
AVhose sacred arcli — iin^icldiii;.^ t^yar), 
Was framed before e're time bc;':aii — 
"Was framed, was reared, with ioii}^ dome ; 
Whose potent arm — we asli by whom ; 
Whose untiring hand secured tlie place, 
And reared this dome — etherial space. 

And drove chaotic night away, 
And filled it with bright living day, 
And now a glorious scepter wields. 
Athwart the blue etherial fields. 
We humbly vicAV that sacred shrine, 
That's filled with Him who is divine; 
'Tis He who rules beyond control, 
The limits of this boundless whole. 

The earth, the air, tlie sea and skies, 
All with His sceptred hand complies ; 
Ten thousand thousand worlds around, 
Are studded diamonds in His crown. 
Myriads of systems yet unseen. 
Fill landscapes of this glorious scene ; 
Ten thousand suns shed forth their light, 
Adds lustre too, as jewels bright. 

This abode of ours must seem small, 
Unto the eye that scans them all — 
An atom, when compared in size, 
To other planets in the skies ; 
^lyriads of sparkling orbs at night. 
Appearing alone to give us light — 
Are worlds like our's, in size unknown. 
And ciaim a centre of their own. 



- LINUS TO WKSENB. :.' 103 

One glorious, mighty power divine, 
Has set tiiose brilliant orbs to shine, 
And gave to each its power to wheel, 
Through the deep blue etherial field ; 
To each has orbits given with care. 
And fixed especial boundaries there ; 
Ko clashing there ; all, all have room 
Within this vast and boundless dome. 

On pinions smooth they wheel with ease, 
JSTo conflict there ; all reigns in peace ; 
Silent and solemn the wheels of time, 
Eoll on in measures that seem sublime ;' 
Time has fixed no boundaries here, 
Eecords no day, no w^eek, no year ; 
Those matchless orbs revolving still, 
Are triumphs of Omniscient skill. 

Cycles unnumbered and untold. 

Those unfathomed, boundless depths unfold ; 

The archives of revolving time ; 

The cabinet of eternal mind. 

Tradition fain would grasp its store, 

And legend too, would con it o'er ; 

But in the deep and hidden mines, 

God treasures up His bright designs. 

But, ever still in depths unknown, .^^ 
He sways His scepter from a throne, 
Unseen, in silence wields His might ; ' 
Sux)reme, sublime we know He's right. 
O'er the vast, boundless, blue domain, 
We feel and fear liis glorious reign, 
All nature praises His rale divine, 
FiuiJi man who breathe.-., to orbs that shine. 



104 ORIGINAL POEMS, 

"We now behold the forest green, 
Fixed by that silent hand unseen ; 
The birds out in the leafy groves 
Rehearse in song devoted loves ; 
In choirs sing their Sovereign's pi'aise, 
Who kindly tunes tiieir grateful laj^s ; 
The sparkling stream, the gurgling rill, 
At once his pleasing mandates fill. 

The flowers dancing in the spray, 
Too their SAveetest homage pay ; 
The fragile rose blushing concedes. 
The nectarine dews on which it feeds — - 
Its varied tints we all must own, 
Are penciled by that hand unknown ; 
Deeply impressed is every line, 
By that sacred hand divine. 

The storm-cloud hovering in the sky, 
The vivid lightning shootiiig by. 
The thunder's low, dull, startling roar, 
The sable pail tliick gathering o'er, 
Thrills our souls with trembling fear ; 
We feel that God is passing near ; 
The lowering clouds thick gathering fast, 
Made buoj^ant by the threat 'ning blast. 

Beligerent clouds the charge prepare, 
Whilst fusikuk s rend the teeming air ; 
Lightnings zigzag the phrensied sky. 
And the swift cyclone passes by ; 
Anon: 'tis past ; the storm has ceased, 
With fieetiug r>' -^ :>eaco, 

'J he tiiiinder to: t Lriil ; 

io silenced bv tiie ''■l^c^.c^ be still." 



LINUS TOJVNSENB. 105 

Far down beneath tlie ocean's foamy crest, 

The billowy deep's wild heaving breast; 

The undnlating, boisterous wave, 

The genius of the marine cave . 

In those secret depths, the fossil texture weaves, 

In lasting wild, mysterious wreathes ; 

In the dark arena of the vasty deep, 

The mermaids their lonely vigils keep. 

Amidst the deep, dark valleys low, 

The fossil forest's luxuriant grow, 

And sea herds in their wild pleasure roam, 

Far beneath the sea billows foam. 

The sea unicorn in evening twilight shades, 

Thick cluster o'er those saline glades ; 

To crop tiie grass profusion yields, 

Upon those deep submarine fields. 

High o'er this vast expanse a power supreme, 
Causes earth, and air and wave to teem ; 
Instinctive life, animates perfection and design, 
Mark the progress of this power divine ; 
Planets unnumbered, in their orbits roll. 
Order and perfection marks the sublime whole ; 
Here Omnipotence sways His scepter from a throne, 
Unseen in secret, in silence, knowing and unknown. 




^^lioddy.?> 



"We are a shoddy nation, with a sizing of deceit, 
With a texture in the woof that renders it complete ; 
The web may be barred, checkered, striped or very plain, 
We find the texture shoddy, with amalgamated chain. 

Our sermonizing's shodd}'-, with a tissue here and there, 
Made too short with coloring, it cannot stand the wear. 
The prayers are most rehersals, repeated over and again, 
AVith a filling all of shoddy and a counterfeited chain. 

The doctors they do practice with their anodynes and pills, 
They will soothe a burning fever and alleviate the chills; 
Their nostrums testing chronics are admixtures all in vain. 
The filling tipped with shoddy ; a counterfeited chain. 

You will see the wary agents, apparently so green ; 
They insinuate complacently that they have the machine. 
That will frill, hem and do the work so neat yet so plain ; 
You will find their blarney's shoddy, with a counterfeited chain. 

You step into a saloon and call up a glass of Gin; 
The man in charge will boAV to you and politely "take you in." 
You will perhaps fill up a glass, but you wont repeat again. 
For you quaft'ed a shoddy mixture, a counterfeited chain. 

The boys and girls of our town are out on a strike; 
We found when through consulting that they were pained alike, 
We found the garb that galled and caused them to complain, 
Had shoddy for a filling and a counterfeited chain. 

Our town is local optioned for a mile on either side. 
Here the sweet goddess of temperance spreads her pinions wide; 
Here the vulture of intemperance you might search fi3r in vain, 
The act had shoddy filling, with a counterfeited chain. 



LINUS TOrvNSEND. 107 

Our court's a shoddy fabric with the smoot]i side alwa3^s < ut, 
Where the judge sits complacent, whilst the lawyers spout; 
Tne jury sits staid in the box, all dressed in garioents plain. 
They soon find the justice shoddy, with a counterfeited chain. 

The woof of policy Ave're weaving is shoddy through and tlirough 

The clothes upon the battle field, we use up nothing new ; 

The woeful medley decomposed with many a nasty stain, 

AYe have naught but shoddy filling, with a counterfeited chain. 

Frank and bold presumption are employees at the loom, 
Whilst for honesty w^e have no place, integrity no room , 
Of products of our politic loom we cannot here complain. 
For we've shoddy for our filling, with counterfeited chain. 

We canvas ail the loathsome rags, and gather them far and near, 
The price though high we pay for them, we do not think it dear. 
We weave it into a woof, a web so neat and plain. 
Oh, its naught but rotten shoddy, with a counterfeited chain. 

The Chinese ship their shoddy, we deem it too a prize. 

We mix it with our own at home, there's where the beauty lies; 

W^e are preparing now a w^eb, from Afric's sunny plain. 

The Chinese shoddy comming in, Ave'll warp it into chain. 

The busy shuttle's flying fast, its hurried through by steam, 
Whilst burly hands from foreign shores hard press upon the beam, 
With busy feet upon the tread, they work with might and main, 
They sock a shoddy filling, in a counterfeited chain. 

The shoddy poet sits in his chair, musing all alone, 

Spmning shoddy into verse, to fill his shoddy poem. 

He is clothed with shoddy comforts, he has shoddy on the brain, 

And the town is filled with shoddv, with a count rff^itcd chain. 



For fifty loiig years the cold winds of winter, 

Have fitfully drifted across this lone grave, 
ind the soft breeze of Summer has quietly uplifted, 

The long pendant branches that o'er it do wave; 
There two sturdy oaks— fond weeping mourners 

Shade with their umbrage this lone silent tomb ; 
In the sweet Summer twilight the birds in the bowers. 

Dispel with their matins its sadness and gloom. 

When sweet breathing Spring, with its fragrant zephyrs, 

Clothes the broad fields with carpet so green, 
And tips the nude branches with foliage-enchanting, 

And with flowers unfolding enlivens the scene ; 
Still 'neath the green sod the lone silent sleeper 

Keposes there dreamless on his lone quiet bed, 
Uu conscious alike of the cold winds of Winter, 

And the zephyrs of Summer that sweep o'er the dead. 

No Par.'an block there marks the lonely spot, 

Nor pendant immortelles hold vigils near, 
Save those sentinel oaks whose dew dripping branches, 

Sheds in profusion the nectarine tear. 
The transient bird in its serial flight, 

May seek for a while to repose on the wing. 
Allured with the charms of those wdde-spreading oaks, 

It too chants a respite — a sweet requiem. 

No monument engraved by artistic hands. 

Erected near to mark the lonely spot. 
The lone grave and he wdios resting here, 

Alike by friends and kindred are forgot ; 
Those dual oaks in monumental unity define. 

And mark the stranger's grave ; 
And o'er the silent midnight solitude — alone. 

Their drooping branches wave. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 



im 



Here the angry storms of Winter calmly waste away, 

And melts in grateful Summer dews, 
And the glorious tints of Summer fade anon, 

And melts away in sere Autumnal hues ; 
Here the birds may plume their weary wings, 

And shelter from the graceless storm, 
Whilst he who calmly sleeps beneath in death, 

Has wanned away — a bright angelic form. 




•^^^Epitaph-t-cri-t-yl-t'Jicrse.-^* 



Up in yon dark secluded shade, 
Tom's mouldering bones are gently laid ; 
The worthless cnr his flesh may rend, 
But safe in death his only friend. 
Stop, stranger, pause as you pass by ; 
You're near the place where Tom does lie* 
And if you have one heartfelt tear. 
Pray stop at once and shed it here. 



When the glorious snn that lingers still, 
Has sunk behind the western hill, 

And has shed for me its last long ra}^, 
The twilight of declining day. 

Excluded from those beams of light. 

And left in death and endless night •, 
My spark of light has ceased to glow, 

And death's cold impress on my brow. 

This moulded form lies cold and dead, 
The spark of life has truly fled, 

A blank of lifeless clay — a wave 
Rolls gently onward to the grave. 

Then take me to some deep, dark shade, 
And there let my lone grave be made ; 

'ISTeath monuments of living green. 
Let me repose in depths unseen. 

Dig for me a grave both deep and wide, 
Room for one casket by my side. 

Where I in peace alone may rest. 
With that one friend I love the best. 

Let some kind friends escort my bier, 
And shed on my grave one lonely tear ; 

And breath for him one tender sigh, 
Who doth beneath those shadows lie. 

Oh, let me there be kindl}^ borne 

By those who will in silence mourn ; 
When lowered in that cavern deep. 

Let friends alone, if any, weep. 

» 

Let some kind hand the mould replace. 
And the green sod be left undefaced, 

That reckless feet may o'er me tread. 
Unconscious of the sleeping deeid. 

110 



i.JJS U^ TO WN^SEND. ^ . . . ^ Hi 

Tl'.ore liie birds will sweetl}^ sing, 

Aiul cliaiit my lonely requiem ; 
And tlio wild rose blush unseen 

And add one charm unto the scene. 

And waste its fragrance and its bloom, 

Around my sad and silent tomb ; 
The humming bird may sip the dew. 

And plume its wings, its flight i-enew. 

There I'll repose — will calmly sleep, 

Within this wild seclusion deep ; 
I there Avill pass that long, long night, 

That's followed by eternal light. 

We then wdll see the unfading ray, 

That will electrify the day ; 
When we will from the tomb awake, „ - 

To see that glorious twilight break. 

To see that Sun of glory rise, 

Who rays illumine remotest skies ; 
Whose glorious beams will never fade, 

Kor sink beneath dark evening shade. 

And listen to that soothing strain , 

That will sweep this sad dreary plain; 
To see a glorious banner w^ave, 

A hand to loose the fetters of the grave. 

Then the grave will lose its bitter sting, 

And death will fold his busy wing ; 
The rose will then forever bloom. 

And o'ershadow the sadness of the tomo. 



The little gold ring you see on my hand, 

Is a present Callie sent to me ; 
I know when we meet she will ki^s my two cheeks, 

And I will sit blithe on her knee. 
My own sister Cal's in the far distant west, 

And I so long to seci her at home, 
I watch the trains east as they swiftly fly past, 

And still hope in the next she will come. 

The sun rises and sets, and weeks roll around, 

And Callie is still far away ; 
When she kissed me good-bye, with a tear in her eye, 

Oh, well I remember the day. 
A tear dimmed my eye as she passed from my view, 

Through the bridge to meet the down train, 
Long I've watched the express from the west, 

To see her returning again. 

But still I'm deceived and time wears away, 

The Summer and Autumn has flown. 
And the flowers she planted with care in the lawn, 

All, all have now withered and gone ; 
And the mound where once bloomed the tiny pathune, 

Is now deep covered w^ith snow ; 
And the dahlias have died that grew alongside. 

She had planted so nice in a row. 

Cold, bleak and sere Winter is here. 

And the hills are all covered with snow ; 
The trees are all bare, and the river's a glare, 

And the cold chilly winds they still blow. 
With my little gold ring, I shall wait on the spring. 

And the leaves on the trees to appear ; 
Then the birds they will sing and make the woods ring, 

When the soft days of Springtime are here. 
******* 

112. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. US 

How sweet's the perfume of the rosebud in June, 

When the zephyrs of Summer are near, 
But the Antumnal breeze soon drifts through the trees. 

And blurs the rich folds with the sere. 
How happy are we with youth on our side, 

And the wave of prosperity flows ; 
Sad when the storms come and ripple the tide,- 

And misfortune's dread hurricane blows. 

No beacon in sight, with hope's gleamy light, 

A wreck on the ocean of life ; 
JSTo courteous strand, where a kind friendly hand, 

Might subdue the sad turbulent strife ; 
But wave seething woes around us still flow, 

And darkness o'ershadows the light, 
A relentless fate still drags us insate, 

And day is succeeded by night. 

Sweet Spring may restore with its fragrance once more. 

The flowers and verdure so green, 
And the bleak dreary plain will spangle again, 

With its soft verdant carpet between ; 
But time steals away with its siren lay, 

And youth in its prowess has flown ; 
And the days, months and years, all sombre appear. 

And onr path vvith sad relics is strewn. 



•^80bituary-i-of<-jimiiiy-t-0rr.-i=:- 

Oh, Jiinniy you have found 

A happier home than this, 
A land of peace and happiness, 

Unmitigated bliss ; 
AVhere Jesus — holj^ Saviour, 

Incarnate reigns supreme. 
And songs of praise angelic, 

The never ending theme. 

There is no limit here, 

No bounds to this domain, 
There flowers forever bloom, 

Upon this fertile plain ; 
The sun of glory shines. 

Upon this peaceful land, 
No sickness, pain or death, 

Afflict this happy band. 

Oh. Jimm}^ thou art missed, 

And manj' a heartfelt tear 
Has now been shed for thee, 

By those who loved you dear ; 
Your little footprints in the sand 

Are plainty to be seen. 
And your little wagon, 

Where you left it on the green. 

Your little boots jo\i placed, 

When you last went to bed. 
We gently handle them, 

They're mementos of the dead ; 
At the table now you're missed, 

And you leave an empt}^ chair ; 
Johnny with his Papa now sits, 

But now no Jimmy's there. 

lU 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 115 

.A little tongue lias ceased, 

To speak in childisli tone, 
And when the boys are out at play, 

I^ow Johnny goes alone ; 
Oh where is absent Jimmy? 

He is sleeping in the grave, 
The cedars growing 'round his tomb 

The gentle zephyrs wave. 

Cold Winter it will pass, 

And balmy breathing Spring ; 
And flowers will bloom again ; 

The birds will sweetly sing ; 
Oh happy days, thou'rt gone. 

Auspicious moments fled ; 
ISTo voice, however tender. 

Can wake the slumbering dead. 

Johnny may grow up. 

As we decline in years, 
But still our little Jimmy 

We'll see through many tears ; 
We'll see his dimpled cheeks, 

Time cannot fade their bloom ; 
It will still be little Jimmy, 

Although he's in the tomb. 

Oh who would break death's deep, 

Eternal, tranquil sleep ; 
Angels 'round, his silent tomb, 

Their nightly vigils keep ; 
An unseen hand subdues, 

The anguish of disease, 
And soothes the mourning friends, 

With an eternal peace. 



-^Yillie-t-aiid-i-pariiiy^'Orr.-^- 



Oh, those dear, dear loved ones have left us;,. 

Their spirits so gentle have fled, 
The cold hand of death has bereft us, 

They sleep, oh they sleep with the dead ; 

Their spirits immortal have ascended, 

With angels, bright angels have flown ; 
In their graves their bodies descended, 

With green, green grass overgrown. 

Kow beneath the cold clay they are sleeping. 

Stranger softly beneath thy rude tread ; 
The light wdnds in pearly tears are weeping, 

Around the still couch of the dead. 

Sleep on little friends in thy slumber, 

The reckless cannot mar thy repose, 
IS'or the bleak winds of Winter drifting under. 

Can arouse thee again to thy woes. 

Perhaps when the sweet scented ze]_3hyrs of Summer^ 
Are bathing the foliage with richest perfume, 

A mother may kneel on the green pall thy covering,. 
And bathe with her tears, thy lone quiet tomb. 

And whilst in that sacred posture recumbent. 
May recall to her presence thy image again ; 

But to break thy repose or disturb thy sweet slumber^ 
Is a hope that a mother may seek for in vain. 

But there is a hope true divine in the far distant future. 

That soothes with its presence the care worn breast, 
And spans with a halo of glory surrounding, 

The tombs where our loved ones in peace are at rest. 

110 



*^^£utog3?apL-^- 



"Dear friends we met and parted, 

One day of life has fled, 
.And o'er our path of hazy gloom, 

One gleaming ray it shed ; 
'The lights and shades that fill our dreams, 

How soon they pass away, 
And we are left in solitude, 

To mourn the fleeting day. 

What fate may have in store, 

We may look for in vain, 
; Perhaps a goal of happiness, 

Or a troublous life of pain. 
When we have traveled o'er the path, 

That destinies survey ; 
We mourn in the ebbing tide 

Of life's declining day ; 

We may then once more recall 

Those happy scenes again. 
And in sweet sad remembrance, 

Beview the rutted plain ; 
.Again behold those landmarks. 

That we have passed in yore, 
,And there the happ}^ greeting, 

That we shall jart no more. 



Hark ! Democrats arouse at once, 

Gird on your armor well, 
And from j^our native hills and plains 

Your countless legions swell ; 
The a^ispic ous day is di-awing near, 

Bright glows the glorious sun, 
The war-crj^'s buoyant in the air, 

The battle has begun ! 

The tocsin's sounding loudl}^ now. 

Pray listen to the call, 
And Freedom's signal's waving high ; 

Come hearken one and all ; 
]N"ow form yourselves in legions strong^. 

The enemy's at hand, 
The emblazoned banner's streaming 

And Hancock gives command. 

Form yourselves at once in line, 

The noble work's begun. 
The eagle of the free noAv soars, 

The tocsin it has rung ! 
The harmonic knell is fioatina: 

So gently on the breeze ; 
In war, Hancock was the watchword, 

We resume it now in peace. 

Hark ! we hear the tread of freemen 

From Florida to Maine, 
"We know the sound will vibrate swift 

O'er mountain hill and plain. 
'Eouse now, dormant free, 'rouse ; 

Your path with flowers is stre^A^n ; 
With the noble Hancock at your head. 

The day is eas}^ won. 
ns 



LINUS TO WNSEND, ' 119! 

Tlie aspirations of our chief 

We fondly now extol, 
To secure liis final triumph 

Our names we now enroll. 
Devices such as seven to eight 

Will noAV be all in vain. 
And the hapless vote of Bradley 

Will ne'er be sought again. 

No Chandler's here to plot and scheme, 

No ebon plastic knaves ; 
With Blaine and Conkling, hired tools. 

To dig a Tilden's grave. 
The programme of our subtle foe, 

To us now w^ell is know^n, 
With Hancock triumphant at our head. 

The day is all our own. 

Down with the vaunted sycophants 

That now invest our land, 
Close round the banner of the free, 

Where Hancock gives command. 
They say that we are corrupted, 

And call us cruel names. 
We've lived to know their falsehoods, 

Their dark insidious games. 

That they have robbed the gOA^ernment 

No one will e'er deny ; 
To slander the brave Hancock 

In vain they now would try ; 
They have waved the bloody shirt, 

Until its bleached and worn, 
Dismay now marks their rank and file. 

In tears their leaders mourn, 



1 



120 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

They feel their case is hopeless, 

Their pulse is beating low ; 
That they must leave their down nests, 

In sadness they all know ; 
The eggs on which they've hatched so long 

Are rotten to the core, 
And the strings on which they've played so long 

Will sound for them no more. 

Sim. 




I have one wish to make you, Win — 
That married Hfe at twenty you'll begin, 
And with a man so awfnl nice, 
That every day he'll kiss you twice; 
That you may live a hundred years, 
Without a frow^n or bitter tears ; 
That every day you'll hail with joy, 
And every year — a little boy ; 
And recall my name when this you see. 
And imme one Itttle boy for ira-. 



Kepublieans in rank and file^ 

Pray gather on tlie field, 
The enemy in hosts assemble^ 

Determined not to yield ; 
Their ranks are fast increasing, 

They are swelling by the score, 
They never dream though in our mid-t 

The strength we liave in store. 

Our guns are all unlimbered. 

We are ready for the fray, 
And with the gallant Jimmy 

AVe will surely gain the day; 
The sunshine of his presence 

Is more than they can stand, 
And victory's sure to follow 

AYhere Garfield gives command. 

Those gay birds swooping 'round us, 

We will lay >their feathers soon. 
And when their dancers form in sets, 

We will furnish them the tune ; 
The music that we'll play for them 

Will not be hard to learn, 
They will find our boat when she's afloat, 

And they will drift astern. 

The campaign ,£iow is fairly here, 

Our banners waving high, 
And the words engraved upon it 

Are " we conquer or we die." 
We want out men ito rally, 

Add strength unto our force, 
3ather around our banner 

jFor better or for worse. 

121 



122 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Our banners spread their ample foick 

Unto the breezes of the West, 
And too,* are bathing in the rays 

High on the mountain crest; 
Far down in the congenial South, 

Our emblems stream with gold, 
And the magnolia scented bloom 

Commingles with its fold. 

And the East is not a desert. 

We have a streamer there, 
A countless host in unison, 

In triumph wants a share; 
A share in placing Garfield, 

Victorious in his seat, 
And to see the enemy retiring 

To wrestle with defeat. 

The North — we hear the echoes, 

Vibrating in the East, 
And the West it claims resources 

In adding to the feast ; 
Oh, we have the loaves and fishes, 

And a banquet we will spread; 
Pilgrims to the shrine of Mecca, 

All expecting to be fed. 

We want all those who wore the blue,. 

To hearken to our call ; 
To gather 'round our standard, 

As we have a claim upon yu all; 
In October comes the fateful, 

Dont forget and all be there, 
For Garfield is the champion, 

And claims the lion's share. 



*^^^^ut!OgrapIi,-t'for-t-^-t-]V[ut:e.§^- 

Time maj^ erase these feeble lines, 

And work wrinkles in tliy brow, 
But the immortal part that never dies. 

Will still be young as now. 
This body it may waste away 

And moulder in the tomb, 
But the spirit's a flower perennial, 

That Avill forever bloom. 



-^^./i-^p^airago/H- 



Apollo is a pretty place, 

With street's so nice and square ; 
The, gentlemen so courteous, 

The ladies chaste and fair ; 
Its surroundings are most beautiful, 

Quite lovely to behold, 
The matrons use sweet language, 

They never rant nor scold. 

Here the men in business, 

Are gems of honesty, 
With ne'er a one among them, 

Who would take a double fee ; 
If you turn into a bazaar, 

. Your w^ants to supply, 
Your friend will rub his hands, 

As nice as apple pie. 

He still keeps smiling courteously, 

He never stops to frown ; 
If you open your purse string 

And plank the money down ; 
And when jowt notions are done up, 

He treats to a cigar, 
Or to take a nip of something, 

He will hand you in ajar. 

Here we have a rolling mill, 

Where mighty wheels go 'round, 
That cause the air to vibrate harsh 

And agitate the ground ; 
With iron flues high in the air. 

Surcharged with flame and smoke ; 
Aside they work a hammer huge. 

That thrills at every stroke. 

124 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 121 

Into the liills tliey tunnel deep. 

To get supplies of coal ; 
The pig receives consistent heat, * 

Before it serves the roil ; 
It passes through some rapid hands, 

AVith hammer, roll and heat, 
Before it receives the azure hue, 

The smootli, the burnished sheet. 

Tlie tongs raid shears in busy hands, 

Still have a work to do, 
Before the aspiring sheet 

Will have a surface bright and new; 
Bur close within annealing hades. 

It makes a transient stay. 
Then to a goal of fancied bliss, 

It quickly wings its way. 

The laborer here who toils and sweats, 

Is not paid off in trash ; 
A kindly hand the owner has, 

That liquidates in cash ; 
The music of those iron wdieels. 

Is heard both night and day ; 
AYlien here two transient weeks roll 'rouiidj 

The laborer gets his pay. 

The grateful clergy of this town 

Will strive to do their best, 
Affixing guide-boards on the wny. 

That point to happy rest ; 
And wutli those landmarks on the war 

We march along with ease. 
As w^e enlarge in cash and grace 

Our progress does increase. 



126 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The people all are happy here, 

Iiicludmg the pet Jew, 
We kindly pat him on the back, 

And he is happy too ; 
He plays for us the Lanspisan, 

And feeds the sacred coon, 
And prepares the intellectual food, 

For many an empty loon. 

We have here men who stand around 

All morning, noon and night, 
And if they see a friend go wrong, 

They always set him right ; 
They always wear the latest styles, 

With jockey cap and coat, 
And keep a horse or two to trade, 

That's old enough to vote. 

Oh I just feel as though 

I was in the bright holy land. 
And on the banks of Jordan's stre?vm, 

I happily did stand. 
Viewing the wild ducks and geese, 

That skim its surface o'er, 
Contented there to live and die,- 

Upon its sacred shore. 

You'll always find the apostle Billy, 

Alone upon the street. 
With a conscience pure within him, 

No ratbane in his wheat ; 
And if he sees you passing 

With cider in your hat. 
He'll take his nimble pencil out 

And make a note of that. 



L]2<1:6 T0WN8END. 12? 

A man}' a^ sorrowing heart we'll liave, 

When Charley leaves the town, 
The dogs npon their haunches, 

In anguish they will frown ; 
Oh, w^ho in Charley's absence 

Will catch rats for the coon, 
Those doting friends of Charley's 

AYill feed it with a spoon. 

Oh, do take good care of it, 

For fear that it might die ; 
The corn crops the}^ are corning now, 

With Summer drawing nigh ; 
I think I see this sacred coon, 

And also hear it say : 
^' You'll take good care and rub me down^ 

When Charley is away." 

As we indite with trembling hand 

The progress of this town, 
My muse will smile in poetry. 

In prose wdll sometimes frown ; 
The happy and the sorrowing parts 

With us gets sadly mixed. 
And the gods will find it difficult 

To draw a line betwdxt. 

Sometimes my muse electrifies 

The heathen and the coon ; 
Again on fleet and serial Aving 

Explores the silver}^ moon ; 
And thus in roaming up and down, 

With jottings far and near. 
Alike in smooth, artistic rhyme. 

The poem's still rough and queer. 



12S ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Here the young gents and ladies toO; 

Unite their songs of j)raise, 
And in confiding^ liappy strains, 

Sing their enraptured lays ; 
And thus with sweet empyrean song^ 

They wile their time away, 
And in happy concerts too,. 

They utilize the day. 

The morals of this quiet town 

Are noted far and near, 
All wicked, slanderous, lying tongues 

Are surely unknown here ; 
And cards and dice and halls of vice, 

All, all a.re frowned away ; 
"Whilst social calls and prayer-meetings^ 

Are the order of the day. 

I hope, my dear, indulgent friends, 

That you will ne'er forget, 
That for those bright and sunny days, 

You'll find some cold and wet ; 
And you will find those grassy fields. 

Where fragrant flowers appear, 
By Autumn winds are sadly changed^ 

Will soon be bleak and cere. 

Where once was youth and beauty too. 

You find decrepid age ; 
Such are the fraught and changing scenes^ 

That fill life's gloomy page ; 
Those cold bleak hills and leailess trecs^ 

Picture a Wint'ry scene ; 
The ba^my breathing, zopln^rous Springy 

Will tip again witn greeii. 



"We beheld with pleasure, as we strdledy 

Two robins side by side, 
Perched on a low depending branch, 

Athwart a purling tide ; 
AVith mutual love the swell beneath. 

Safe on that fragile bough, 
TLey tampered with their tiny wings, 

The current swift below\ 

Tl] oir confiding hearts from every care, 

In hope were bounding free ; 
With a cosy home they claim their own. 

Close in a neighboring tree. 
Amidst whose sheltering leafy shade. 

They build a Summer's nest ; 
Where in peace within that lone retreat, 

Their happy brood may rest. 

Kind i)rotection through parental love, 

Their every chirp supplies ; 
AVith the bounties that kind Nature lends, 

Hard, cruel want defies ; 
In the rapture of a mutual song 

They wile the hours awaj^, 
And welcome in the opening morn 

With a happy lay. 

Dear bird we kindly welcome thee, 
Amidst thy woodland bowers ; 

A dreary place without thy song- 
Would be this home of ours j 

And dreary too the solitude 
Without thy cheery song. 

And sad would wing the zephyr light 
If it bore no notes along. 

129 



•-^^prondescerice ; £n-t-Ode-rtc-t-]VIay.^ 

A new-born montli with cheery notes. 

Is welcomed in to-day ; 
With our adieus to April's frowns, 

We welcome smililig May ; 
Bright happy May we cherish thee, 

Gay messenger of Spring, 
Around thy smooth and verdant path, 

Fond memories love to cling. 

The obin on the April morn, 

Full blandly piped his notes, 
And on the light winds of zephyrous May, 

His cheery music floats ; 
He sips the nectar of the flowers. 

To make his notes more clear, _ 
Whilst close amidst the trailing vines. 

His mate still lingers near. 

The timid buds come blushing forth. 

To tip the bowers with green, 
And welcome Spring, with siren song, 

Proclaims the opening scene ; 
Cold, bleary Winter's raised the siege. 

And fled in dire dismay, 
And left the cold disheartened fields, 

To peaceful, happy May. 

She, with a dauntless flowery troop, 

Has filled the arid plain. 
And with life and hope reanimate. 

Has clothed the fields again ; 
There Winter's seething angry winds,. 

Have ceased their dread patrol, 
And o'er the blue etherial dome, 

Dark clouds no longer roll. 

130 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 131 

Broad fields arrayed in living green, 

ISTow mark the landscape wide ; 
Whilst sparkling streams their wanton conrsC; 

In dimpling currents glide ; 
The swallow on its buoyant wing 

Light skims the surface o'er, 
And the daisies and pinks on either side 

Bedeck the pebbly shore. 

A countless winged and subtle throng, 

lN"ow dance in happy glee ; 
Eeleased from Winter's torpid chains, 

Kind May has set them free ; 
With a humming din of busy wing, 

They fill the ambient air ; 
Amidst the banquet now prepared, 

They claim a dainty share. 

The glorious Summer sun 

Sinks gently to its bed, 
Tinging the deep cerulean west, 

With spans of burning red ; 
Fleet shuttles in the dusky eve, 

Weave golden tinted Avreaths, - 
And light winged zephyrs gently float, 

Upon the evening breeze. 

All nature now with one accord, 

Those bounties recognize, 
Uniting in spontaineous song — 

Sweet anthems do arise ; 
When glowering in the distant east, 

Unfolds the moon's pale beam, 
And hushes in the midnight gloom, 

May's calm and happy dream. 



'-^Ji^lfla's.t-Pet.t.i^abbit.^i^- 

I had a little rabbit once, my Pa brought home to me, 

It had lost a little eye and with only one could see; 

The little minx was partly black with snowy streaks of white, 

When my dear Pa said it was mine, it filled me with delight. 

When Pa first brought it home, trembling with cold and fear, 

I gently took it in my arms — oh, how I loved it dear ; 

I set it on the parlor floor, to see it hop about, 

And always kept the door well closed, for fear it might get out. 

My dear little pet would eat out of my hand, 

And when the boys would make a noisa, on its hind feet would stand, 

I made for it a downy bed on which it slept at night. 

My little rabbit's ermine coat was changeless black and white. 

But now my little darling pet is lying cold and dead, 
The reason why, old Logan, the cat, struck it on the head ; 
I wept and thought him cruel for a wicked thing like that, 
But mother said he was not to blame — he took it for a rat. 

Then in despair I wrung my hands and screamed with all my might. 
And kept my little rabbit dead, till Each came home at night ; 
I seized the broomstick in my hand, and pursued in despair, 
But when I thought to wreak my wrath, lo! Logan wasn't there. 

Paul and I, we buried it, out beneath the snow ; 
Paul he had his little pick and I worked with a hoe ; 
And when we had it covered up, we both sat down and cried, 
•Oh, how we mourned o'er little rabbit when it died. 

My poor little pet had ears as black and smooth as silk, 
It loved to feed on cabbage leaves and sup a little milk ; 
It would eat good apples too; it was not yet full grown, 
I know it would be living still, had it been left alone. 

13 3 ■' 



LINUS TOWNSEND, IZ?. 

When I thiDk of my little pet, I do sit down and cry, 
And think it awful curious, little pets like that should die ; 
I carried the sad message with a tear upon each cheek, 
On the Sunday that is coming it will be dead a week. 

They all would jeer and laugh at me, but still my tears will flow, 

For my little pet that's dead, and covered up with snow ; 

The cruel cat has sense enough to keep well hid away, 

He knows full well the work was done and he'd receive his pay. 

Oh, such little pets as this, I love them tenderly, 
I love to smooth their glossy backs, as they sit on my knee ; 
While their little sparkling eyes appear to know just what I say, 
And it gives me pleasure to see them jump around and play. 

But now ray little pet is gone,, with its bright and pearly eye ; 
Just when I had taught it how to love me, it was sure to die ; 
But I feel unhappy still to think that it is gone. 
To know the flowers will bloom o'er it out on the silent lawn. 

The place we chose to bury it, I well remember yet. 

On Callie's mouiid of sweet pathunes th^re sleeps my little pet ; 

I know that Summer's coming and that Spring not far away, 

That the flowers they will bloom again and blush so sweet and gay. 

I know the soft Summer's breeze will drift o'er dale and hill, 
And that my own dear little pet sleeps midst the flowers still, 
Why I love those little pets, 'tis more than I can know. 
Except as charms of innocence, God has made them so. 



'-'^^£-t-T'pibute-t-t]o-t-tIie4-/!pollo-t-]Sridge. 

Auspicious the morning, but with tears we encounter 

The sad, sombre change that's come over our dream ; 
Apollo alone, in its glory triumphant, 

Pauses in sorrow to witness the scene. 
Its picturesque beauty, late sadly impressive, 

Like a phantom of night it has silentl}^ flown ; 
The old bridge with its fame of traditional story, 

A mass of wrecked debris forever has gone. 

The pillars that carried its time honored arches, 

Stand isolate — toys of the wind and the tide, 
And are sadly rebuked by the floes of bleak Winter, 

As o'er the proud waves they triumphantly ride ; 
No more will the lovers of artistic beauty 

Behold its quaint outlines as they pass in the train, 
Nor will the boy with his erratic wheelbarrow, 

Patrol in his glory its casement again ; 

No more with the mail pouch and its sacred treasure, 

Will he trip in its shade with his heart full of glee, 
For its making trip of his own too by water, 

To fill the last page of its lone destiny. 
Por thirty lon^ years we've extolled it with pleasure, 

Looming in view with a beauty untold, 
But now in our hearts — with the saddest forebodings, 

Its wrecked lonely piers we only behold. 

In the gloom of the night its old friends beheld it, 

Assailed in its weakness by the wild, angry flood ; 
They had often looked on, when in the strength of bridgehood. 

Elate at the assaults it so proudly withstood ; 
But alas ! in a moment the genius of storm, 

Massed its whole force for an assault sublime, 
With the wild seething flood and the ice floes dull thud, 

It successfully triumphed o'er the ruins of time. 

]."4 



LINUS TOWNSEND, 135 

'We behold from the shore the conquering flood, 

Its broad, dimpling current swift rolling between; 
As free as when under the arcadian wildwood. 

It photo'ed the umbrage of foliage so green ; 
It disdains the dull chains that attempt to enthrall, 

Its bright sparkling current so free, 
And sweeps the bleak shores without paddle or oars, 

In pursuing its bright destiny. 

Onward, still onward, in the strength of its might, 

Its proud sparkling wave will roll on. 
Until the bright day and the dark gloomy night, 

Have strangely commingled in one ; 
.And those who expatiate free on its shore, 

Are at length all withdrawn from the scene ; 
Hippie on will those waves, when their sad lonely graves 

Are shaded with foliage so green. 




The diary of another year, 

Is placed upon the shelves of time, 
Its pages teem with memories dear, 

Or dusky with the blurs of crime. 
Within those hallowed archives now 

Those sacred records find a place ; 
This volume of friend Eight-two, 

Will there for aye remain in peace. 

We are prepared for something new, 

To hail the entry of another year ; , 
To part with tried old Eighty-two, 

To welcome in young Eighty-three. 
The bounties of thy liberal hand, 

Old friend, we loath to part with thee^ 
We loath to drop the figure two, 

And substitute the number three. 

Sage and faultless time — the present hour,. 

'Tis all thou canst or will bestow ; 
The past is gone — forever gone. 

The future is uncertain, too ; 
The coming year, we claim our own, 

As Eighty-two's departed — gone ; 
On evanescent wings has flown. 

In wild pursuit of Eighty-one. 

Another link is added to the chain 

Of fast accumulating years ; 
Another car is coupled to the train, 

That courses that unbounded sphere.. 
Room for the commerce of Old Time, 

Its boundless car supplies. 
As through the trackless ether waste 

This phantom engine flies. 

136 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 137 

Again the noiseless wheels of Time 

Their ceaseless task renews, 
And o'er their boundless, trackless course 

Their wanton round pursues. 
Those noiseless, mute, untiring wheels, 

Our minds with awe surveys ; 
And realize our hopes and joys. 

Our years, months, weeks and days. 




-^^^^utograph.-^- 



The blackbirds in the cedar groves. 

Their early notes are singing. 
And with their shrill discordant notes, 

The welkin keeps a ringing ; 
And I'm within the umbrageous grove, 

The charms of Spring enjoying. 
With him, oh ! I'll not mention him, 

Oh, dear ! oh, how annoying. 



^^^fhevl^obin.-^- 



E^obin Redbreast without fear or any disguise, 
Pours forth his sweet song, before the sunrise, 
And from his lone perch in a neighboring tree ; 
He awakes the Spring morn with a sweet matinee ; 
Deep in the grove breathes the charms of a lyre, 
Awoke from repose by the woodland's sweet choir ; 
A siren's soft touch there enchants its wild string, 
And vibrates once more the echoes of Spring. 

The buds are enthralled in the nude swaying boughs, 
And the flowers still dream in a Wint'ry repose, 
To awaken again — again to blush free. 
From Winter's bleak chain — a cold destiny ; 
Then Summer, bright Summer, again will arise, 
To assume her rich mantle — a verdant disguise. 
And her magical touch will thrill a light string. 
And vibrate again the echoes of Spring. 

Oh, thou little waif, still thy notes do prolong, 
And cheer my sad heart with thy musical song ; 
I have list to thy song for many a long year. 
But still as sweet music they fall on my ear ; 
A charm of sweet euphony swells with each strain, 
That is why I would ask its rehearsal again — 
Eequest the once more to touch the sweet string. 
And vibrate again the echoes of Spring. 

In raptures I have listened to thy lay, when a child, 
And in gleamy prosperity thy notes have beguiled, 
And too, when adversity my fortune controlled, 
I have sought thee alone, to hear thy sweet troll ; 
In the deep solitude I have sought thee alone. 
When to fortune and kindred alike was unknown, 
Gay bird of the forest thou art still on the wing. 
To vibrate again the echoes of Spring. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 139 

'Oh, my dear little friend one thing more of thee. 

That you hail each Spring morn with a sweet matinee, 

And from the lone branches that silently wave, 

You will sing your sweet notes o'er my lone quiet grave; 

And when from these scenes I have long passed away. 

My name to oblivion — my form to decay. 

With your choicest notes my requiem you'll sing. 

As you vibrate again the echoes of Spring. 




Cold and chill's the Wint'ry night, 

And bleak's the day that follows ; 
The pigs they hang their drooping ears, 

No mud in which to wallow ; 
The rabbit in the dusky shade, 

Trips through the trailing brier, 
"Whilst I choose with the one I love, 

To sit close by the fire. 



--^^I'lie-t'Little^-Barl^. 



Dear reader we have embarked 

Upon a swelling ocean wide, 
Where sunken rocks lie deep concealed 

Beneath its restless tide ; 
Where jutting headlands sally forth. 

To meet our little bark, 
And gathering cyclones o'erhead, 

Have made the passage dark. 

We have a chart upon our deck, 

By which we mean to steer. 
Though the waves run mountain high,. 

And the Maelstrom's eddy near ; 
We expect the storm to waste away. 

The billows to subside. 
And our fragile ship's expanding sail. 

To skim its rolling tide. 

The sharks and monsters of the deep • 

Do show their ruthless heads. 
And the sea-serpents in our course 

Do leave their coral beds ; 
But still we hope our wierd bark 

Will stem the wavy crest. 
And safely land upon a strand. 

And there be forever blest. 

To peaceful shores with havens nigh. 

And to alluring strands, 
With varied landscapes, cloudless skieS;. 

And fertile happy lands. 
Upon whose undulating plains, 

A countless host resides. 
Who will render us their patronage, 

And courtesy divides. 

140 



-^^I'lie-t-Delinquent-^Jtlusbarid-t-I^ebuI^edr^- 

See the glories of the opening Spring 

Profusely thicken 'round ; 
The green, green grass now clothes the fields, 

The flowers sweetly bloom ; 
The birds they sing their cheery songs, 

The lark's high in the air, 
The frowns of Winter now are gone, 

And Summer's smiling here. 
Elmer, all nature seems to smile, 

But still the angels frown, 
The confiding wife that holds you dear 

Is far in a distant town. 
Although you claim your home's away, 

Her peace you do destroy. 
For all her thoughts center on you, 

And your dear little boy. 

At night her pillow's wet with tears, 

Her dreams they follow you. 
The bed on which she sleeps is small, 

But still there's room for two ; 
She watches well those infant smiles, 

That on his lips do play, 
But lonely in her midnight hours 

They are fondly kissed away 

Hush ! the angels hover near. 

And fill her heart with joy; 
Although you are far away 

She loves your little boy ; 
Her waking moments spent alone, 

And many a bitter tear 
She kisses oif the dimpled cheeks — 

The infantile treasure there. 

141 



142 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Full many a g;loomy hour's spent, 

With her a sorrowing heart, 
Where imile alone Bhould find a place^ 

There tears unbidden start ; 
The aching heart with wounds afresh, 

Inerimsoned bleeds anew. 
And cruel, slimy, slanderous tongues 

Barb deep its victim too. 

Go teach these pallid cheeks to smile,, 

And heal that wounded heart ; 
Dry up those briny tears again 

That thus unbidden start ; 
Go cherish well love's sacred gem, 

'Tis pure without alloy. 
And take into your arms again 

Your own dear little boy. 

Go, cultivate this opening flower 

And sooth it with your care, 
A mother's ceaseless fount of love, go, 

Too, you'll find is there. 
You'll find those bonds of matchless lova 

In purity defined, 
And close within her fond embrace 

That little boy of thine. 

Go, she will meet you in the glade, 

And greet you on the lawn. 
Or hail you in the evening shade, 

Or in the twilight dawn ; 
The barb of fate will pierce the heart 

Of him who vv^ould destroy, 
Or fail to meet with open arms 

His wife and little boy. 



Her whom he held most dear's enclosed 

In death's sad, drear embrace, 
And sleeps cold in the silent tomb — 

That dark and gloomy place ; 
There the grave worm in slimy coils, 

Has fixed a safe abode. 
And infection in that lonely cell 

The charms of life corrode. 

She sleeps, unconscious of her loves. 

Upon her silent bed, 
And there awaits their time to come, 

In her mansion of the dead ; 
Naught can awake her quiet slumber, 

(Endless pause within the tomb,) 
Whilst the hand that once caressed her^ 

ISTow kindly fosters into bloom. 

Sacred emblems — flowers he's sown. 

Sweetly but sadly beautifies 
The green, green pall that covers o'er 

The couch on which she lies. 
The angels — holy vigilants. 

That guard the midnight hours, 
Sip the dewy nectarine sweets 

From out those budding flowers. 

The avenues that lead along 

Those silent tombs among, 
In those quiet mansions of the dead 

There's many a speechless tongue. 
A rustic chair is nicely placed, 

A picture on a tomb, 
There fond afiection meditates. 

And breathes a sweet perfume. 



lU OIUGINAL POEMS. 

The loaded zephja-s drifting on, 

Emburdened with the notes of Spring, 
The birds investing with their song, 

And in the bowers sweetly sing ; 
All nature with instinctive life, 

Enchant with magic lay ; 
But endless gloom amidst the tombs 

Excludes the light of day. 

Adieu ! adieu ! thou cherished mound, 

Thou holdst my treasure dear, 
My every thought still lingers 'round 

The sacred dust that's buried here , 
My latest thoughts will turn to thee, 

When I am far away — 
Turn to that spirit bounding free, 

To her listless in decay. 

As the soft, vernal, breathing Spring 

Into the verdant shade reclines, 
Or the low moaning Summer breeze 

Eecedes into Autumnal winds ; 
The exiled spirit soars on high, 

A pallid corpse sinks in the grave ; 
Just as a sparkling ripple wans 

Into the drifting ocean wave. 

The spirit free'd, through ether light. 

To scenes unknown will wing its way ; 
JSTot to the shades of sable night, 

But to the realms of endless day ; 
Where transporting angels wait 

The mandates of Jehovah's throne, 
Unfolding wide the golden gate — 

Bright entry of the world unknown. 



Two iTiiiQ busy feet have ceased their noisy tread 

Upon a mother's floor, 
And two anxious little hands to scatter toys 

Around her cottage door, 
And two sparkling little eyes have ceased 

To claim a mother's love. 
And one little exiled spirit more 

Has sought a home above. 

A little, busy tongue from early morn to night 

Is there no longer heard, 
And now a little vacant place 

Is at his parents' board ; 
An opening in two of loving hearts 

That time can never fill. 
Around which the memories of the past 

There fondly linger still. 

Where yesterday an unbroken sod, 

There flourished smooth and grei n, 
A little mound all beaten round 

Is plainly to be seen ; 
Down beneath this frt shened clay, 

Upon its silent bed, 
The treasure of a mother's heart 

Lies sleeping with the dead. 

The funeral cortege's passed away, 

A slow subsiding wave, 
And left behind an angel guard 

To watch this little grave ; 
Another little spirit's joined 

Heaven's infantile choir. 
And one more little hand to touch 

The strings of the celestial lyie. 



--^^^il-t-EIegy.-^ 



Death has prepared with ruthless hand 

Another victim for the grave, 
And has concealed a treasured ^em, 

Deep within that lonely cave ; 
Approach with stealthy mien when darkness pal I'd, 

And bore away the sacred prize ; 
And now within that cavern wall 

A pallid corpse unconscious lies. 
With rendings pierced those trusting hearts, 

The watchful eye with many a tear, 
Commingling grief unconscious starts, 

In viewing relics scattered here ; 
With unfeigning anguish sad again, 

Reviews the habit that she wore. 
Recalls the image — futile, vain, 

Of her whose dream of life is o'er. 
Her spirit in a dreamy flight. 

Is borne to a distant land, 
Where 'neath a sun of endless light. 

It meets a vast angelic band ; 
Who while away the endless day 

In mutual love and genial song. 
Where seraphic notes each passing lay, 

Repeated by an angel throng. 

146 



'^^I'lie-t-Expiring-t-Day.-s^:* 



Another glorious day is gone, on pinions eternal fled, 

To the dominions of the past, aways forever sped ; 

A legate to eternity away's in exile flown. 

To fix another diadem in its relentless crown ; 

The sweet ephemeral messenger has left upon the wing. 

Leaving along his transient wake full many a fatal sting, 

It seems as though the angels were hovering in the spheres, 

To usher into exile dread the days and fleeting years ; 

And the little birds with mute consent, deep in the twilight gray, 

Were rendering up a solemn dirge to the departing day. 

With untiring zeal upon the breeze, and mitigating song, 

Until the sable shades of night, close 'round the happy throng ; 

With what a reckless hand they pass the time away. 

Unconscious that the chain of life grows short each waning day^ 



-^Ji^l'he-t-EIopement.-^- 



Oh, thou timid maid, why thus hesitate 

To trust within thy lover's hand the amulet of Fate, 

Or to embark with him upon the blue, the dimpling tide. 

And safe within his little boat, alone with him to ride ; 

The pale moon o'er the wat'ry waste, is prepared to give you Kgl»t, 

Whilst darkness with a sable pall, invests the gloomy night ; 

Your faithful dog instinctively, impatient lingers near. 

Whilst he who holds you by the arm would banish every fear ; 

The poor whit who far away's involved in shades of night," 

Whilst upon you on the rippling shore the moon is shining bright. 

147 



-^^I'lie-t-prcgs.-^- 



It lifipiened one bright April day, 

As the soft winds were blowing, 
A slight transition from the past, 

When it was bleak and snowing; 
It seems all nature had awoke 

From Winter's dreary slumber, 
All nature seemed instinct with life, 

In gay and goodly number. 

In flocks and groups on every side. 

Enjoying the fine weather, 
The birds through the etherial space — 

In flocks they went together, 
A butterfly, the gaudy elf, 

On spright and airy pinion, 
Sought alone his flowery throne, 

To scan its vast dominion. 

The frogs out in the neighboring pond — 

I could not call it singing, 
There with a thousand throats employed, 

The welkin kept a ringing ; 
A robin in a leaning tree, 

Had there become disgusted, 
By trying to keep his music up, 

His little windpipe busted. 

A bob-tailed blackbird passing by, 

Attracted by the clatter, 
Paused a moment on the wing, 

To see what was the matter ; 
The toads were bobbing up and down, 

Frogs in every quarter ; 
Some were sitting on the bank, 

And hundreds in the water, 

148 



LINUS TOWNSEND. ^ ' 149 

Two reckless urchins standing near. 

The sport they seemed enjoying, 
With missiles held in every hand, 

The concert were annoying ; 
What was to them unfeigned delight. 

Was to the group a horror, 
What filled the boys with happy glee. 

Just filled the frogs with sorrow. 

This cruelty appears to me, 

But to some it renders pleasure ; 
There are many hold its practice dear. 

As though it were a treasure ; 
This happy state of coming Spring. 

Don't all belong to frogs and fishes, 
And can be shared by bipeds too, 

And all alike who wishes. 



Tlie-t-Conict-t-of't-lSSl.-^- 



That herald in the cerulean dome, 

That we behold afar, 
Is it a celestial messenger, 

Or a bright eccentric star ? 
Has it left some blue etherial field, 

A wanderer all alone, 
A bearer of a mystereous law, 

Far from a world unknown ? 

Or, is it some delinquent orb, 

That's fled away in haste. 
And is now a Lonely wanderer 

In the blue etherial waste ? 
Countless numbers with wonder view, 

Its strange, mysterious flight, 
Whilst the radiance of his phantom car, 

Illumines the waning night. 

Or, is it an especial bark, 

On which the angels ride, 
And skim o'er the seething Maelstroms 

Of the ethereal tide. 
Thick the twinkling stars around. 

Appear to close the way. 
But a chart's within an angel's hand, 

That stems the cloudy spray. 

This fiery bark through boundless space, 

And countless ages told. 
Upon the blue transparent wave. 

Unconsciously has rolled ; 
No rockbound shores obstruct its way. 

On which dread billows break. 
No crested waves, thick foaming 'round, 

Enclose its transient wake. 

150 



LINUS TO WNSEND, 151 

A countless throng of wonc'e.-ing worlds, 

Now view it with surprise, 
Whilst unerringly it finds its way, 

Safe through the starry skies. 
Upon its spacious burning deck, 

Seraph groups abound. 
Where scenes unseen and songs unheard, 

The weired crew resound. 

Or, is it an orb, prime ordial, 

From an adjoining sphere, 
Pursuing the eliptic round. 

That marks its passing year ? 
Perhaps one hundred years of ours, 

Its measured time would fill, 
But onward in its trackless course 

In triumph wanders still. 

It onward still pursues its flight, 

"Most sublime to survey," 
Whilst some unerring hand unseen. 

Designs its serial way ; 
Full soon unto a realm unknown, 

This phantom ship will steer, 
Whilst still upon the stygean coast, 

We are slowly drifting here. 



-^i-Ji-j-Chii^istms-t-Poeriir^- 



Christmas! once more we hail th}^ glad return, 

Once more we greet the sacred morn ; 
Far o'er Judea's distant plains upon that day, 

Were spread glad tidings — " Christ was \v>vn 
Angelic hosts with sacred tongue proclaimed — 

"Glad tidings " through the azure skies, 
Ind wise men from the East sustained 

The shepherds in the glad surprise. 

Still with awe, that sage and sublime thcnie 

Identifies that latent day, 
A more than mortal's transient dream, 

A Saviour in a manger lay. 
Tiiis day the Saviour of mankind appears. 

To break the galling chain of sin. 
To cherish hope and banish fears, 

The Prince of Peace is ushered in. 

Once more fond memories cluster 'round, 

The sacred portal of the soul, 
As again we hear the social sound 

The Christmas bells' familiar toll ; 
Again we see the dimpled cheek 

And hear light footsteps on the floor, 
Unfaltering tongues to speak. 

As we have done in days of yore. 

Christmas once more — familiar sound. 

Accustomed street our grateful ear, 
Again renews its annual round, 

The closing of the dying year. 
Fond hopes and joys with it are gone, 

And sadness takes the place of glee, 
But still a gay and happy throng, 

We gather 'round the Christmas tree. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. lb% 

There to renew sweet social ties, 

Those sacriid bonds of friendship true, 
To recall again sweet memories, 

Rehearse once more the saddest too. 
The aged recount the fleeting past 

With many a heartfelt bitter tear, 
But youth regale the Christmas feast, 

The happiest of the dying year. 

" Peace and good will to man " Christ proclaimed 

'Tis now the burden of our poem, 
May Id pervade throughout the land. 

The social circle — happy home ; 
May it be borne on zephyrs' wings. 

Attuned to notes that all may hear, 
May it be sung by old and young, 

Throughout the cycles of year. 



-^^^^ri-t-Ode-t-tO't-June.-^- 



It was June and the thick wreathes of Summer, 
Had closed up the bowers with garlands of green, 

I sought in the forest a lone quiet refuge, 
To view at my leisure the rapturous scene. 

From choice I ascended a conspicuous mountain, 
With labor oppressive its summit I gain, 

And there I alone from that modern Pisgah, 

Reviewed with fond pleasure the hill, dale and plain. 

There low in the valley a bright flowing river, 
Pursues undulating my own native stream. 

On whose shores in my youth, the dimples enchanting, 
I first breathed the raptures of life's fairy dream. 

The impulses of life I first there encountered, 
Upon its soft pebbly and deep shaded shore, 

But, oh, too soon I awoke from my slumbers. 

And that sweet dream of childhood forever was o'er. 

Apollo in dim distance was calmly reclining, 
Quietly recumbent in her Sabbath's repose. 

Where low from her churches in softening cadence, 
Soul cheering anthems voluptuous arose. 

On the soft Summer breeze those light-winged echoes, 
Sought in the distance my happy retreat. 

Where all alone, the woodland surrounding, 
They fell on my ear in ecstasy sweet. 

In this rapturous shade not a leaf was stirring. 
And silence prevailed o'er hill, dale and tree, 

Save on a branch, his soft lay purring. 
My sleek-coated friend — a gay chickaree. 

From its eruinent perch, it lay there contented. 
It knew in my presence its life was secure. 

From its long bushy tail — a covering invented, 
Thus enabling my friend the heat to endure. 

154 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 155 

My favorite dog, there intensely reviewing, 

The confiding waif thus perched in a tree ; 
-Coy at my feet, in whines low subduing, 

Awaiting each moment a signal from me. 

With tender caress I soothed the desire, 

My favorite maintained, for its object to gain ; 

With my pencil once more and heartfelt emotion, 
I scan the broad landscape, hill, valley and plain. 

A wide field of romance stretches far to the westward, 

A grand panorama spread out to my view ; 
Its confines sublimely outlined the horizon, 

And its glories commingled, cerulean blue. 

The cerulean waste, in its canopied grandeur. 

Appeared in my view as an inverted sea; 
And the snow-crested clouds, slow drifting asunder. 

All had a transcendent influence on me. 

The receding valleys in the distance reposing, 

Crowned with the verdant redolent hills ; 
Mingled with ravines, wildly disclosing. 

The soft purling brook or the dimpling rills. 

Anon; the soft twilight came gently stealing, 

Closing around my lonely retreat; 
^nd the moon in the east His glories revealing, 

^hus rendering the shade of the landscape complete. 



-4i*^dicm-l30<-1]Iie-t-^ceiie-t-of*t-]V[y-t-ChiIdIiood.-^- 

As now deeply engrossed with the saddest emotion, 

I breath a farewell to my childhood's sweet home. 
VVhen tossed by the wave of life's sad commotion, 

In my day dreams I'll seek thee, as lonely I roam ; 
When far, far away from those scenes so endearing, 

With hills, vales and mountains far stretching between,. 
In my lone midnight dreams again ramble o'er 

My own native fields clothed in foliage so green. 

In the vision of sleep, in the wild, gloomy forest 

I loiter once more 'neath a favorite tree. 
And there midst the scenes of my own happy childhood,, 

I wander again with a heart full of glee ; 
In those visions of night I think in the branches, 

I hear the gay notes of the blackbird again. 
In sweet adoration — in aerial rambles, 

I behold the herds passive, graze over the plain. 

But one fleeting moment dispelled the bright vision, 

And I'm far away reposing alone, 
And one single ray of soft moonlight still lingered, 

Where the sun in my dream so brightly had shone ; 
Adieu to those scenes of my childhood departed, 

A fond yielding memory oft carries me there. 
Thus borne away swift on the wings of transition, 

I am landed once more in the shade of despair. 

156 



IN'ow we are here, our farmer friend ;, 

And we anticipate, 
To sell each one and all of you 

Our Favorite swinging gate ; 
Mr. D. T. Harvey, our agent, 

"Will treat you nice and clever, 
Three per cent, upon your farm 

Will secure a right forever. 

We claim the basis of our gate 

Is founded in perfection, 
As you proceed to investigate, 

You'll find it swings in that direction. 
When its poised in equal space, 

'No sagging to and fro. 
You can hoist it too, with ease, 

To clear the mud and snow. 

You can elevate it nicely too, 

To let your pigs go through, 
You can see the plan is very plain, 

Original and new. 
The high degree of unity. 

That's claimed for other gates, 
And all qualities of perfection 

The Favorite concentrates. 

The cost that we have figured up 

To perfect this device. 
About two dollars and a half 

Will cover up so nice ; 
We claim the man who owns a field. 

Ought sure to have a gate. 
To spend our time with '^ slip-gaps " now 

No man has time to wait. 

157 



158 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Unwieldy bars and wooden plows, 

Are all now laid aside, 
Our gate well poised by artist hands, 

Will swing both true and wide ; 
And this device upon a farm 

Is too an ornament, 
Whilst this one always stands erect, 

All other gates are bent. 

They keep sagging back and forth, 

You cannot keep them straight, 
And that's one thing we claim 

Don't belong to our new gate • 
A little boy of four years old 

Can open it so nice. 
And he can close it up again — 

There's where the beauty lies. 

It is always swinging free, 

!N'o hanging on the nose. 
A beauteous gem upon a farm, 

Thus swinging in repose ; 
A ''sesame" in its owner's hand. 

It opens at his touch. 
We have always thought a man of sense 

Would like to deal in such. 

With one thing more we'll greet you now, 

And then our work is done. 
We'll say the patentee of this 

Is Jimmy Ferguson ; 
He resides in North Mills, Mercer County, 

Pennsylvania State, 
Where you can address with ease 

The inventor of this gate. 



•^^An-t-Ode-t-to-t-July.'i::- 

July is here with cheery smiles, 

The pay-day of the year, 
And scatters well his bounteous gifts,. 

Profusely far and near ; 
His golden fields of wavy wheat 

The farmer hails with joy, 
With pleasure too, the rustling corn, 

With which the zephyrs toy. 

The fertile mead's luxuriant grass, 

Winter's long months' suppl}^, 
Close in pursuit with famished tongues 

Long dreary days draw nigh ; 
With downy oats on many a field 

He spots the vast domain. 
Thus with his never failing gifts 

Is cheered the rustic swain. 

The farmers now with busy hands 

Are gathering up the spoil, 
Each day is spent with heart content, 

In unremitting toil. 
Ko gifted cycle in the round 

Affords the rich supply. 
As proffered by this generous hand. 

And furnished by July. 

The Eden stores of ripening fruit 

He offers as a treat. 
But his choicest gifts are plenteous sheaves 

Abundant stores of wheat ; 
For which in heartfelt gratitude 

We praises send on high, 
To Him who fills our every want 

And sends it in July. 

159 



-^s-'fhe-^Exliilicirating-^Bree^e.-t 

How sweet and calm the Summer breeze, 

To-day that drifts along, 
And soothmg are the zephyrs too, 

Upon the drowsy throng. 
How nice and cool it were to-day, 

To cut the grass and grain, 
And cheering for the weary men 

Upon the heated plain. 

And with the slightest effort to 

Keep away the flies, 
And breath the perfuming vapor 

That sweet around us rise ; 
The loafers they can lounge around 

The corners of the street, 
And scan the ladies trip along 

Their ankles and their feet. 

And there upon some stool or bench 

Gape on the passing crowd, 
And waste their slang and reeking breath 

In comments lang and loud ; 
Prepared to pass a sage remark 

On all who pass along. 
Thus with foul and tainted breath 

Assail the busy throng. 

Drift on, thou grateful breezes, drift, 

Eestore the fragrant air, 
"We all alike extol thy gift. 

The swain and harvester ; 
This is a gift sweet Nature gives. 

And all alike it feel, 
All claim alike an equal share, 

And one we cannot steal. 

160 



A lone, secluded cot within a glade, 
A place secure this scene is laid ; 
A rippling stream meanders by, 
Reflecting clear the hilside nigh ; 
Hard by a well paled garden plot 
Cheers with its grace this lonely cot, 
A mountain scene close lay behind, 
With jutting headlands well defined. 

Luxuriant views surround its stoop, 
A continuous, trailing, flowery group ; 
A few trained trees, whose bowers green, 
Shed lustre on this beauteous scene ; 
Here peace and comfort sweet recline 
Beneath this shade and trailing vine ; 
A home like this was Adam's lot. 
Surrounded thus, his sacred cot. 

Notes sweet enchanting midst the trees, 
In cadence soft float on the breeze, 
Those echoes wane in magic thrill, 
Away out on the neighboring hill ; 
A matron comes in plainness clad, 
The mistress of this rural shed. 
The raptures of her humble song. 
Commingling with the grovy throng. 

Away in some secluded glen, 
Apart from the cold haunts of men. 
There I'd prefer a lone retreat. 
Where peaceful purling waters meet; 
And there in solitude alone 
I'd worship at its silent throne ; 
There would I wait with sweet surprise^ 
Por new and brighter scenes to rise. 

161 



--^^putile-t-JVEoiiieritSr^- 

How weak and fragile is the cord 

That binds ns to this earthly sphere, 
And brief and transient is our stay, 

Made up of days and fleeting years ; 
Vain riches are but futile toys, 

And in Death's relentless hand, 
Are scattered like the glittering shells 

Along Life's ebbing strand. 

Our hopes, our joj^s and sorrows here 

Commingle with the past, 
And drift away like forest leaves 

Before the Autumn blast ; 
The cherished vines we long have trained 

Around our cottage door. 
Will glisten in their midnight tears, 

And weep with us no more. 

The woodland grove that clustered near 

With sheltering bowers green. 
Their fading sere and falling leaves 

Attest the changing scene ; 
The borean winds wild seek their way, 

Chill through those leafless bowers. 
And wreck with cold relentless sway 

This once bright scene of ours. 

Thus on serial pinions light, 

Time flies from day to day, 
And with unceasing transient flight 

Our fancies pass away ; 
Leaving our fond and futile grasp 

Fixed on void and empty space. 
Through which our yielding pleasures pass 

Without the slightest meaning trace. 



•^^On-t-tlie-t-lDeatbt-of-t-an-t-lMalid.-^- 



Fi'om lingering disease and suffering 

She now has passed away, 
To find a respite free from care, 

Deep in the silent clay ; 
Xow sleeping on her silent bed. 

From care and sorrow free, 
Her spirit's filling far, far away 

A brighter destiny. 

Her sunken eyes, grown dim with tears. 

Have found a happy close, 
Her body racked with sore disease 

Reclines in calm repose ; 
Her room is sad, and empty chairs 

Surround her empty bed, 
Mute silence now replete with gloom 

Is reigning there instead. 

The clock upon the mantle-piece 

Ticks slow amidst the gloom, 
AVithout it, would be desolate 

Her now deserted room ; 
Mementoes of her palmy daj^s 

Lie thickly scattered 'round, 
Like cruel barbs within the flesh 

Keep quick the festering wound. 

Her spirit free'd from earthly thrall, 

Has sought that happy land. 
Where unfading flowers perennial bloom 

TJpon its peaceful strand ; 
Where the wily serpent never drags 

Its dread and slimy coil, 
Nor the foot prints of relentless Death 

Deep mark its fertile soil. 

163 



Prom this dull terrestrial sphere 

Her spirit's passed away, 
"To where a sun that never sets 

Makes light an endless day ; 
Where sin or sorrow, pain or death 

Can nevermore appear, 
And from \'\ h * ch the guilty shrink away, 

In sadness and despair. 

Passed to that glorious realm above, 

From care and trouble free, 
There in the presence of her God 

To spend Eternity ; 
"With angels 'round Jehovah's throne, 

And spirits of the blest ; 
*^' Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest." 

Eer happy spirit there surveys 

The glorious scenes around, 
And solves the sublime mysteries 

With which those scenes abound ; 
And scans there with insatiate eye 

Its bounteous fields untold. 
And rambles with unnumbered hosts 

Those streets of burnished gold. 

-Still in the presence of her God 

She breathes an air divine, 
And basks within those sunny rays 

That never cease to shine ; 
There beams within each spirit eye 

Rays of devoted love, 
Such are the bright transporting scenes 

That fill those streets above. 

164 



JANUS TOWNSEND. 165 

Briglit sparkling streams go purling on, 

Througliout the endless year, 
And dimple on each sunny v/ave 

That flows there bright and clear ; 
Angels sip ambrosial sweets 

And bathe within its tide. 
And spirits roam amidst the flowers 

That bloom upon its side. 

Congenial spirits there do roam 

This long, long endless d?,y, 
And courteous throngs around the throne 

Their fondest tribute pay ; 
Accepted by a generous hand, 

Who there receives their mite; 
The gloomy rays that there appear 

Dissolve at once in light. 

Xo noise or turmoil enter in 

This vast and blest abode, 
The thralls of earth and pangs of sin 

Are banished from our God ; 
Thus upon those flowery plains 

The heavenly moments fly, 
There love abjures each guilty stain, 

And spirits never die. 

They live — enjoy eternal bliss, 

The spirits' happy home, 
' Countless thousands may enter here, 

And still find ample room ; 
No rippling streams, nor landscapes wido 

Can bound this beauteous plain, 
The arches of Eternity alone 

Can span this vast domain. 



"-^On-t-BreaI^ing.t-]V[y-t-Iiil^-t-BottIe.-i> 



Dear friend, I most reluctantly 

Now give myself away, 
Although in making gifts so free 

We find will never pay ; 
Py the leash hounds of misfortune 

We're pursued from place to place, 
And have left a track behind us, 

Bleared with odium and disgrace. 

Let bygones be bygones, 

They are mummied, old and dry, 
As we have — yes, we have all of us. 

More than fish to fry ; 
This morning as we idly sat, 

Qu'etly conning o'er a poem, 
Eachel came in stealthily to do 

A little sweeping in my room ; 

To do a little sweeping — dusting. 

That and nothing more. 
Presently we heard a crash — a splash, 

Lo ! my ink and bottle lay upon the floor. 
With not a cent about me — sad predicament, 

The Lord above me only knew, 
So we hurried Paul around the corner 

To get a little more from you. 

With a heart aglow with kindness, 

The little bottle you did fill, 
With the angels hovering 'round 3'ou, 

And we know they bless you still ; 
By Paul you request a poem of me. 

To pay this ink of blue — 
My artless muse at once prepared 

This one expie ' ""'> • you. 



•^Ji-^Lirast-^- 



August now declares his right 

To rule the day and govern night, 

This crowned successor of July, 

No one his sovereign rights deny ; 

O'er lawns, embrowned and stubbled fields, 

A rightful scepter now he wields ; 

None dispute his right to reign, 

Throughout the gorgeous Summer scene. 

The siren song within the wood, 
Is encored by a native brood ; 
The wasteful hand of past July 
Has drained the rippling streamlets dry ; 
Where once a dimpling current flowed, 
Beneath the lone and sheltering wood, 
Now in those moss-grown banks so green, 
-A sweltering breach now marks the scene. 

Those sparkling streams, alas, have dried, 
And with my own sad fate's allied ; 
Once we breathed a zephyrous May — 
Those sweet perfumes are passed away. 
And fragrant June's bright flowers, too. 
Away, wiered, winged, those phantoms flew; 
Where once lay fipi^--- '^f verdip-f^ g-yr -;-,, 
Now's a bleak, a bl e and sterile scene. 

Hope ! Like the swallow plumes its v, ing, 
To seek afar a congenial spring ; 
Where flowery Mays and balmy Junes 
Unceasing spread their rich perfumes, 
Where purling streamlets never dry — 
Are bountiful in rich supply ; 
Where boundless fields of living green, 
•Pervade this grand unchanging scene. 

167 



-^HObitua-py-t-of-t-jienry-i-Poiterr^- 



Sombre death in sable guise, 

Has borne away the treasured prize; 
Another spirit has taken flight 

In the still hours of the night; 
When danger to us does least appear, 

Death is vigilant, death is near — 
With easy grace and stealthy mien, 

He hovered 'round the midnight scene ;, 

And bore away to realms unknown. 

The spirit from its mouldering throne ; 
When all are wrapt in silent sleep, 

The angel death still vigils keep ; 
When slumbering safe from pain and care^,. 

Unconscious, too, of danger near, 
And sleeping bliss her mantle spreads, 

Reposing near's the sleeping dead. 

When brightly breaks the dawning day> 

There cold in death, the sufferer lay, 
With lowering clouds of sorrow near. 

He slumbered calmly on his bier; 
His soul away in peace had fled: 

His body there lay cold and dead ; 
The immortal tenant had passed away. 

And left his mansion to decay. 

Go where the flowers sweetly bloom. 

And there you'll find his quiet tomb ;;. 
Go where the zephyrs 2:ently play, 

And where the dewy, salient spray ; 
Go where the wild birds early song, 

In rapturous cadence drifts along ; 
There you'll find the flowers bloom 

Around his sad and lonely tomb. 



Hearken tlie sad strain that comes from afar, 
That wail of discord from the land of the Czar ; 

There thousands as serfs now languish in chains, 
Or spend their sad lives on Siberian plains — 

Far away from their homes and all they hold dear ; 

There they spend lives of sorrow and fill graves of despair* 

There they drag out a life of anguish unknown, 

Where the bleak winds of Winter unceasing are blown;, 

And those drear Alpine rangers appear to review 
The vast sublime span of heaven's dark blue ; 

Here the wolf, the sole tenant of those sterile plains, 
Thrills the echo of night with his foreboding strains. 

There, within the confines of a Siberian shed. 

The exile alone reclines on his bed ; 
And sleep — sweet restorer — relieves his despair. 

As he sinks in repose on his moss-covered lair ; 
In the solace of dream he is borne swift again. 

To his own native land and home — happy twain. 

But alas! sad transition, the daylight appears ; 

He is aroused from his dreams to a waking despair;. 
Here the exile, forgotten, his life wanes away, 

A banquet for wolves, his bones to decay; 
No one there in pity to shed a lone tear, 

Or strewn with compassion his tragical bier. 

The tyrant's repose should be disturbed with a fear, 

And the goddess of liberty hovering near ; 
When fate — strong, unyielding, has signed the decree 

That the oppressed of all nations alike shall go free,. 
With an arm stiong, impassive, in repose, in disguise, 

And like the Phoenix of old from his ashes arise. 

169 



l.-O ORIGINAL POEMS. 

A cold, blood-stained sail now appeals loud and clear, 
That vengeance delayed is fast drawing near ; 

Thousands in arms now in secret await, 
The signal revealed by the genius of fate; 

This long pent up fury in unfeigning disguise, 
Awaits the dread moment when bid to arise. 

In this latent condition it rests ill at ease, 

With the demon ot tyrany still on the increase, 

Who with iron-like heel without fear or restraint. 
Harsh treads upon laymen as well as on saints. 

Thus the umbrage of gloom o'ershadows despair. 

Whilst alone in his glory rules the dread sceptered Czar. 

Thus the Czar unthinking sits alone on his throne, 
E-endering his subjects unhappy as well as his own; 

He sways his dull sceptre with distrust and in fear, 
With the assasoin's cold armor presaging near; 

With the shad^.s of the Upas their griefs they renew, 
And beneath its dread umbrage their morals review. 

The Czar with a thought and his pen could rem::ve, 
And relentless h.u- he could turn into love; 

The cold winds of sorrow that drift o'er his land; 
He could dispel witk his pen — that magical Avand, 

Make sad hearts all happy that are now filled with woe, 
And remove the d-^rk clouds that hang o'er them now. 

Eut dread superstition, that terrible bane. 

It spreads wide confusion o'er valley and plain. 

It enchants with its song and it-s colors allure : 
Its fetters are fixed and firmly secure, 

Once on its captive are there bright galling cliairv<^, 
With a Russian sceptre the tyrant reigns' 



J 



-'^^^he-t-Peddlar.-i^- 



The lone, weary peddlar borne down with his pack, 
That he has poised on a cane, or strapped on his back, 
Must hurry along through the mud, dust and heat, 
In hope at each turn a patron to meet ; 
Its perhaps the first time he ha^ traveled the road. 
And oppressively anxious, increased is his load ; 
He reclines in the shade sometimes for a rest, 
As he journeys along, by the heat sore oppressed. 

As thus he reclines in some wide spreading shade. 

And the birds twitter sweetly 'midst the leaves overhead, 

His thoughts gently turn to his friends far away, 

As the birds in the branches are singing so gay ; 

On the light wings of fancy he is carried once more 

To his own native cottage on Erin's green shore ; 

He is happy again in a fleeting day dream, 

.'Vs he rambles along 'midst the emerald green. 

ile awakes from his slumber — his day dream is past. 
His pack and his journey he resumes now in haste ; 
He takes to the road with new vision impressed. 
Balmy sleep — sweet restorer — ^he's renewed by the rest ; 
He stops at each cottage upon the road side. 
In hopes with the inmates his goods to divide ; 
The gates are at once slightly rendered ajar, 
With a heart "pitty-patty " that a " Towser " is near. 

He has now boldly entered and is up on the lawn. 
And the faint hope in his breast is renewing its dawn ; 
Thus far on in safety and clear of the dogs. 
He increases his gait as onward he jogs ; 
When he comes to the door he gives it a rap, 
As he loosens his cane or unbuckles his strap ; 
The door is now opened and he is told to step in, 
When his tirade of blarney is sure to begin. 

171 



172 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Witli a courteous ^' How are you," it is cold or its hot, 

His preface at present we have nearly forgot ; 

He claims with assurance his goods are so nice, 

Which are thrown out on a bench and displayed in a trice ; 

His needles and pins are extolled about first, 

And he declares most emphatic they are none of the worst ;, 

With a grace he exhibits his linens so white, 

Which he does with heartfelt and fervent delight. 

He will say : " I'm a native of Erin's green shore, 
And with this nice pack of goods I have lately crossed o'er^, 
And I'm here now to sell quite low for the cash," 
(When no doubt all his goods are the veriest trash), 
"I have from Old Ireland just crossed the salt sea wide, 
And brought with me here these nice goods beside, 
Every thread in these goods are from flax that was sown^ 
And on the green slopes of Old Ireland was grown." 

Confused with his blarney his goods you will buy. 
And he'll pocket your cash with a cock in his eye ; 
With a sad shoddy mixture you are left at your ease, 
You can pray at your leisure or curse if you please ; 
Those goods are most likely from some shoddy mill, 
No doubt the vile product of yankeedom skill ; 
And the Paddy from Cork that has just left your door 
Has been selling these goods for years here before. 

Thus the landlady mutely beholds him perform, 
And has waited impatient a lull in the storm ; 
His goods in a chaos now lie on the floor, 
The storm has abated — the tempest is o'er j 
The lady consented a few things to buy, 
As in great confusion around they do lie ; 
She pays him in cash with a feeling of pride, 
Which he pockets at once with a ''thankee" beside. 



LINUS TOWmEND. 

IBlq straps on his pack and he takes to the road, 
Sis heart it grows lighter as less grows his load ; 
When underway fairly he increases his pace, 
His frowns have all vanished, leaving smiles on his face ; 
When he thinks of his cash it affords him delight, 
Whilst his hand in his pocket is grasping it tight ; 
Thus made happy again he light trudges along. 
And cheers on his way with light humorous song. 

As he wends his way slowly by the hill's rugged side, 
With its bleared summit lofty alone for his guide, 
'Or picked his way deftly through some dreary dells, 
Where the coon roams nocturnal, and the chickaree dwells, 
And a brook murmurs softly as it ripples along, 
Commingling its cadence with the wild birds sweet song ; 
Those strains softly thrill on the peddlar's breast, 
As he seats himself down on its banks for a rest. 

As he lies on the moss near this clear purling tide, 

And regales himself too from its current beside, 

And he watches the trout there so sportive and gay, 

As they glide back and forth through the cool nectar spray ; 

ISTow he leaves the soft carpet that kind Nature has spread, 

^Resuming once more his lone wearisome tread ; 

Now the peddlar emerges from the wide spreading shade. 

And is lost to our view on the far stretching glade. 

We are all peddling itinerants on Life's dreary road. 
Each one bearing separate his own weary load ; 
We have hopes, joys and sorrows all stored in our packs, 
Which a hard cruel fate has strapped on our backs ; 
We exchange our goods often and renew them each day, 
Still unconscious that time is fast passing away ; 
We're relieved of those burdens when about to pass o'er 
The dread Stygean sea to Eternity's shore. 



fS'T^^utunin-i^^ 



Autumn's liere Avith murky clouda^ 

ISTovember's drawing near, 
And with the faded, falling leaves, 

The saddest of the year ; 
The little snow-bird on the wing, 

And timid, tiny wren. 
Are the only tenants now that break 

The silence of the glen. 

The tuneful mocking bird has flown^ 

And left the songless jay. 
And the concert of declining year 

Has now quite passed away ; 
The busy, gay and toying squrrell 

JSTow coyly frisks along. 
But in the leafless bowers now 

Unheard's the Summer song. 

The paling sun pours faintly down 

A wan and sickly ray. 
Whilst falling leaves before the breeze 

As swiftly drift away ; 
The cheerless winds go freighted by 

With sadness all their own. 
Leaving behind a dreary wake, 

With withered flowers strewn. 

The little bee upon the wing. 

It daily seeks in vain 
For flow'ry sweets and nectarine dews,. 

Upon the arid plain ; 
Embrowned, bleared and faded grass 

Now covers field and lawn, 
Where now alone the lark awakes 

The cheerless, chill v daw^n. 



^^^I'o-t-Isabelr^- 



Dear Isabel, the cruel swell 

Of ocean's briny wave, 
Divides us far and leaves us sad, 

In dista,nt lands to stray ; 
Thou art home in town of Hull, 

And I in America, 
My wife, my home, old England, 

I love thee still, though far away. 

The sun's pure beams pour brightly down 

Upon the ocean's troubled breast. 
And the moon's pale orb it nightly frowns 

Upon its foaming, seething crest ; 
Although the wave insinuates 

Its caves unfathomed deep, 
And tempestuous storms sweep o'er its breast,. 

And lulling winds their vigils keep. 

My fleet- winged fancy passes o'er, 

No time or space can intervene, 
Until I with friends at home once more. 

Embraced within that favored scene ; 
Too soon I wake — 'tis but a dream, 

And I away, far, far, alone. 
Deserted by the magic queen. 

And vanished too her airy throne. 

Hope latent in my anxious breast. 

Claims respite to some distant day, 
To stem again the briny crest. 

And breathe once more its bounding spray :. 
To tread once more my native land, 

The sacred places of my birth ; 
Where dwells my wife, my children bcind. 

I hold most dear and prize on earth. 

175 



-4i^l'lie-t-pleW4-Bric[^e.-^- 



llute and eternal monuments of arc, ,a 

Deep based within the gravel beds, 
Progression now unyielding on her part, 

Has placed a crown upon thy dauntless heads. 
A tiara kings might well envy, 

And emperors look upon with feigned disdain, 
But time though capricious will ne'er deny 

To thee a long and happy reign. 

Doubtless feet unnumbered and untold. 

Thy smooth and grateful planks may tread. 
From youth till wearied with age — grown old, 

And cease when numbered with the dead ; 
The glorious sun from off his dizzy way. 

Upon thy matchless architrave looks down. 
Or the moon, pale orb, a midnight, tribute pays. 

Or on thy time-enduring battlements frown. 

Old Time with unwearied pace still will pass along, 

And plodding feet will pass the arches o'er, 
Until unconscious too the present yielding throng, 

Will moulder with the debris of forgotten lore; 
Those peerless piers still with unerring care, 

"Will mark the progress of departing time, 
And condole with each declining year. 

In solemn passive requiem. 

A mighty current flows beneath. 

Those untrembling arches strong. 
Whose dimpling waves from day to day, 

Unceasing drifts along ; 
Whose tell-tale murmurings thicken around, 

Those mute, submissive piers. 
To commingle with the ceaseless tramp 

Of long succeeding years. 

176 



•^^£n-t-Epig37aiii.'§=:- 

Oh, tell me, will those glorious scenes 

Be closed out from my view, 
And will my spirit wing its way 

To a realm enchanting too ; 
And will those dimpling rills 

Be forever lost to me, 
When I cease to tread their banks 

Will they still ripple free ? 

Those my native rugged hills. 

With wild vines covered o'er. 
Will they renew their faultless charms 

When I am known no more ; 
And will the birds within the bowers 

Still sing their songs anew, 
Anc^ with their artless flattering tongues 

Win cheery consorts too ? 

The flowers too will blush and bloom, 

And bud out blithe and gay, 
And fill the air with sweet perfame, 

When I am far away ; 
The tiny wild flower will blush unseen, 

And linger in repose. 
And the pearly dew-drops nestle still 

In the bosom of the rose. 

The zephyrs they will drift along. 

Amidst the fragrant spray. 
Whilst countless hosts — a dusty throng, 

Await the coming day ; 
And must I leave this glorious scene, 

And be forgotten too, 
And a gentle breeze will dissipate 

My last and long adieu. 



^^^Proterbs.-j 



Slow but sure the wheels of time roll on, 

Slow but sure our weary years have gone ; 

Slow but sure our youth will pass away, 

Slow but sure our locks will turn to gray, 

Slow but sure our limbs so lithe and strong, 

Slow but sure will lose their power e'er long ; 

Slow but sure will fond affection yield its trust. 

Slow but sure will hopes be blighted in the dust. 

Slow but sure we loose the charms of life, 

Slow but sure we cease to mingle in its strife ; 

Slow but sure love abdicates its throne, 

Slow but sure a deeper passion own. 

Slow but sure the bonds of kindred cease. 

Slow but sure strife yields to smiling peace ; 

Slow but sure the chill of ice and snow, 

Slow but sure the bleak winds cease to blow ; 

Slow but sure Winter will pass away, 

Slow but sure will come the flowery May. 

Slow but sure we'll hail the breezy Spring, 

Slow but sure the birds again will sing ; 

Slow but sure the flowers will grace the lawn, 

Slow bnt sure the dew glistens in the dawn ; 

Slow but sure the grass will clothe the plain, 

Slow but sure the field will bloom again. 

Slow but sure the orbs pursue their round, 

Slow but sure retain their deep profound ; 

Slow but sure the sun sustains his speed, 

Slow but sure sinks in his burning bed, 

Slow but sure the moon pours forth its light. 

Slow but sure unfolds the glorious night, 

Slow but sure God's eternal mill may grind. 

Slow but sure the guilty there his grist will find ; 

Slow but sure the sinner plods his way, 

Slow but sure ''Vengeance is mine and I will rwpay;'^ 

Slow but sure eternal justice waits. 

Slow but sure man dallies with the fates. 

Slow but sure our passing moments fly^ 

Slow but sure we reach Eternity. 



--fiObituary-i-of-t-]\3:37s.-t-Jerinie^V/est-^- 

The dark and gloomy cloud of death's 

Obscured her hon^y-moon, 
And the flowers that adorned her path 

Now wither on her tomb ; 
Although the tears of tender love 

May moisten with their dews, 
Faded, forever faded, are 

Their sweet and radiant hues. 

The charms of life have vanished 

With the sunbeams of her day, 
And as softly as the midnight winds 

Her spirit passed away ; 
Leaving in the distance tears, 

And passive silent gloom, 
And friends to mourn in sadness 

Around the silent tomb. 

Far, far above earth's gloomy clouds 

There is a better land. 
Where the foot-prints of appalling death 

Ne'er mark its happy strand ; 
Beauteous flowers of perennial growth. 

Its wide avenues adorn, 
And angels with the spirits blest 

Bright cheers the endless morn 




The tear — that trifling dew-drop, 

That trembles on the cheek, 
It breathes those voiceless accents, 

The tongue has failed to speak; 
'Tis fraught with tender tidings, 

That angels only bear. 
The message in the dewy drop 

That glistens in a tear. 

It is conveyed in silence, 

It breathes no saddening sound, 
But of tho corrosive festering 

Of a deep, hidden wound ; 
Deep seated in the aching heart, 

Where the eye has failed to see. 
The little sparkling tear-drop 

Alone now pleads with thee. 

It breathes a lone enchantment, 

A sweet angelic power, 
'Tis like the treasured dew-drop 

That nestles in the flower; 
Prom which the gaudy butterfly 

Long sips the nectar sweet, 
And the down within the crown 

Aflbrds a safe retreat. 

The tiny, lonely, trickling tear. 

Love's tragic power owns. 
Thus trembling on a dimpled cheek. 

Swells raptures in its tones ; 
Stay ! thou silent messenger. 

Enchanting power divine, 
Thou mute endearing token. 

In love's devoted slirine. 

IS'J 



^lie-t-WidoWs-^pate 



The Widow's sad aud lonel)^ heart 

Is filled with pensive woe, 
Whilst gloom around its portals 

The darkest shadows throw ; 
And within that sacred temple 

Where love had reared its throne,, 
The sable pall of deepest night 

In dire shades are thrown. 

Darkness now pervades those halls, 

That once were filled with light, 
And where the sun had brightest shone 

Now glooms the darkest night; 
Where with the dulcet notes of love 

Those airy halls were filled, 
But now in lonely silence 

Those echoes sweet are chilled, 

Where once the choicest flowers bloomed,,. 

Weeds now perennial grow. 
And in those bowers where love reclined^, 

Now's the retreat ot woe ; 
And where once the little bee 

Sipped the budding flowers, 
Now loathing in the trailing vines 

The slimy reptile cowers. 

Where the fragrant zephyrs once 

Calm floated on the breeze, 
Now solemn, dull. Autumnal winds 

Moan amongst the trees; 
It is a sad and solemn change, 

Pier boon of life has fled, 
For he who shared life's fleeting charms 

Lies slumbering with the dead. 



We are a sad and hapless race, 

Embraced in slimy coils, 
The meshes of earth's wily net 

Enfolds us in its toils ; 
Hopeless victims we're involved. 

Within the fatal net. 
Lightly we wear the galling thong, 

Self-strangers to regret. 

Through prison halls to gloomy cells, 

Thousands tread along, 
The dismal echo of their tramp 

Makes dire the dolesome throng ; 
Not one alone, but numbers wear 

Those loathsome prison chains, 
And guilt upon their trembling souls . 

Has fixed its filthy stains. 

Numerous bright, delusive charms. 

Old Satan now employs, 
His subtle art unto his snare 

The innocent decoys; 
A void, presumptuous enemy. 

While we are weak and bare — 
The reckless yield to magic spell. 

Are caught within the snare. 

Old Satan holds the precious pawns. 

That spendthrift hands supply. 
Profusely in his spacious safe, 

Our richest treasures lie ; 
With combination locks he holds 

Our trusts with dusky keys, 
Without confines old Satan raids 

Both land and troubled seas. 



l^ine long years she spent in gloom, 

No light before her eyes, 
No glorious sun at morn or noon. 

To break the sable guise ; 
.'No moon at night whose silvery light. 

Might solace with a gleam, 
AH, all to her was lone midnight, 

A long unbroken dream. 

On pinions of unwearied hope. 

She was gently borne away, 
Through regions of unbounded s]rac3. 

To realms of endless day ; 
The eternal ruler of the spheres. 

There sits upon his throne. 
And on His right a glorious light, 

A holy radiance shone. 

'There all can see — no sightless eyes, 

And all alike behold, 
'Those never, never changing scenes. 

Those streets of burnished gold ; 
Here is no "sere and yellow leaf," 

The flowers never fade, 
..A glorious sun that never sets. 

Or sinks in evenins: shades. 

Here all can hear, without restraint, 

Angelic choirs sing. 
And view the flowers unceasing bloom. 

Rejoicing in endless spring, 
And fraught with a kind Saviours love. 

And spirits filled with joy, 
J^nd tread alone around the throne. 

Those streets without alloy. 

183 



4iOn-t-l2lie-t-Deatli«t-of<-a't-]Y[othep.-^- 



Death with cold relentless strides 

Boldly stalks abroad, 
And by his dread and ruthless hand 

We are laid beneath the sod ; 
All those of earth and mortal mien 

Must ever feel unsafe, 
For in our midst unseen, unheard, 

He springs his cruel shaft. 

The mother in her sacred sphere, — 

We would she might escape. 
But death pursues with fatal grasp, 

And strikes in every home ; 
The high, the low ; the rich and poor^ 

Are all within his bound, 
We all alike unconscious tread 

This earth as fatal ground. 

As the moment of our birth, 

Death's dire sentences passed. 
Amidst those glorious scenes around, 

We know our die is cast ; 
No friendly hand to stay the doom. 

That follows to the grave. 
Or to dispel the sable gloom, 

All powerless to save. 

When on our journey through this life, 

One thought we'll have in store, 
That in a few briet fleeting years, 

Then we shall be no more ; 
And that those glorious scenes around 

Will fade out from our view. 
And through the mysteries of death 

We'll find out something new. 

184 



Come, gentlemen, now your attention pray give, 
From a custom like yours, is the way that we live ; 
Just step here inside, as you pass by our shop. 
We will shave you so neat, and your hair we. will crop. 

Just step in at once, we can't brook a delay, 
You will feel so much better by shaving each day ; 
Your looks will improve and health too, likewise, 
With a long, rugged beard you're a tramp in disguise. 

A long beard like a goat's, stuck in a man's face, 
It just looks to us now like a thing of disgrace; 
There is beauty and comfort in a smooth shaven chin, 
Then to test our good practice, at once pray Btep in. 

At once take a seat in that wide, ample chair, 
Whilst we shave your face clean and shampoon your hair ; 
For this luxurious process we'll charge you ten cents. 
Scarce enough in our pocket to bear the expense. 

We know when you're through you'll be charmed with delight, 
At the bathing we gave you with our towels so white ; 
We know if you're round you will call in again. 
As we do all our work without rendering pain. 

We are always on hand with our razors so bright, 
We are here all day long, and some part of the night ; 
With Tom in reserve we are always prepared, 
To clip a man's hair or shave off his beard. 

All the tonsorial comforts you can here engage, 
If you but kindly insure us your own patronage, 
We'll reduce our work down to your hearts full content ,. 
And if you find any fault we won't charge you a cent. 



i^lovrly the wheels of time roll on, 

T'3 p-^dulum vibrates, 
And the p<.,ssing moment on its dial 

Forever dissipates ; 
Im sacred index points the hour 

T^pon the ~'ings of time, 
Ard the echos of its swelling toll 

Awake a thrilling chime. 

'.tixe wretch deep saddened with the thought, 

The day is drawing nigh, 
When from this earth and all its charms, 

His soul away must fly ; 
To appear before the judgement seat. 

And hear his final doom, 
And to know that he will sink away 

In odium to the tomb. 

"With an ignominious hastening fate 

All plain within his view. 
Encompassed with a pall of gloom 

By hope deserted too. 
Eeliind the bars all, all is dark, 

Without a gleam of light, 
And Hope — that brilliant guiding star, 

Deep set in endless night. 

In dread suspense behind the bars. 

In sadness he awaits. 
That awful day fast draAving near 

The sentence indicates ; 
The fatal day to him 

Is drawing on apace. 
When life instinct with all its charms, 

A sickening corpse in place. 

186 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 187 

But, wliy withhold our sympathies. 

Although deep stains of guilt, 
It was in sin and crimes behalf 

That "precious blood" was spilt; 
It was for sinners — sable dyed, 

Our Saviour, he was slain, 
And still's renewed the crimson flood 

That wipes away each stain. 



'Tis God alone who claims 'tis His, 

Strict vengeance to repay, 
'Tis his above all earthly thrones, 

To fix the judgement day; 
Vv^here the guilty with their load 

May safely seek redress. 
Where a Judge in ermine without stain 

Can make his burden less. 

Proud arrogance in man to judge, 

When he's a guilty share. 
How can he presume to cleanse the wheat, 

Whilst he is breeding tare ; 
To judge — sublime prerogative, 

God^laims it as his own. 
Whilst high above the spheres and stars 

He fills an ample throne. 



--^^^IDeatli-t-of^-ari-t-Mant-^- 



Dark, gloomy shadows now pervade. 

Our cheerful, happy home, 
The dusky shades of night now fill 

Where once the light had shone ; 
Our sun of happiness has set. 

Deep in its silent bed, 
And the faultless trust we idolized 

Now slumbers with the dead. 

That sparkling orb that guided us — 

Our love through day and night, 
Has sunk into its dreamless couch — - 

Has ceased to give us light ; 
Has left us in the dark alone. 

To find our dreary way, 
And now reposes in the tomb, 

The victim of decay. 

'No minute shadow now is seen. 

Impressed upon the wall, 
Nov little busy footsteps heard 

In the deserted hall. 
Vacant and deserted are 

More places now than one. 
For the little waif that cheered our home? 

Is now forever gone. 

Sad longing hearts and tearful eyes. 

Have followed her above, 
And left; the dome a vacancj^. 

Except undying love ; 
The precincts of our happy home, 

Are now filled with gloom, 
And our brightest rays of sunshine, 

Grow dim within the tomb. 



•^^^To-t-tiie-t-BIindr^- 



'The snn may sink behind the hills, 

And all be dark and drear, 
IBut again with the bright morning light 

Its glories will appear ; 
The gloomy night may for awhile 

Obscure the shining day, 
But soon the light of living morn 

Will drive the gloom away. 

But with the blind the gloom of night 

For evermore pervades. 
And with the opening of each morn 

More deeply grows its shade ; 
No ray of light to cheer or break 

The sameness of the mind, 
. ISfor soothe the weary loneliness, 

The prestige of the blind. 

All within is lonliness 

And all without is sad, 
. Not one lone ray of earthly hope 

To make their hearts feel glad ; 
All, all is sad and lonely here — dark shades 

And sinking gloom, 
But still within 's a sanguine hope 

That points beyond the tomb. 

The birds may troll their cheery notes, 

And sing their songs in May, 
"The only sounds that now recall 

Their long departed day ; 
The endearing voices of her friends 

Make distinct day and night ; 
-But not one single gleam appears 

Or ray to give her light. 

1«9 



190 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The mind still active on its throne 

Confers with scenes above ; 
And wanders o'er those distant plains 

Of never ceasing love ; 
Where God makes distinct every joy, 

The blind is made to see, 
The suffering exile here reclaimed, 

The captive is set free. 



When on the graves despairing brink — Eternity in view, 

We bid this life's familiar scenes a last, a long adieu ; 

We view the brightness of earth's scenes, which calmly fade away 

Yet brighter still Eternity — the light of endless day ; 

The mystic gloom of life's dark day has hung around its gates, 

The light within death's friendly hand forever dissipates ; 

The dismal strains that are intoned in this place of despair, 

Are soothed into empyrean notes by those who enter there ; 

The hinges of those sacred gates are poised by angel hands 

Whilst none beneath its golden arch, long in waiting strands ; 

We enter a flowery plain, beneath a starless sky, 

Whilst seraphs in Jehovah's train there gently hover nigli ; 

A celestial choir — boundless throng — there chant a sacred Vary. 

And angels with the spirits blest, roam the endless day. 



When we were young, long years ago, 
When men were honest, just and true^ 
When each in safety could depend 
Upon his neighbor as a friend ; 
When each one felt a mutual tie 
Within their hearts in concert lie, 
And no one did in word or deed 
The thing that sowed discordant seed. 

And no one stopped for day or night, 
To do the thing they knew was right; 
And no one stayed for rain or shine, 
To do a service true and kind. 
p]ach one went happy on his way, 
AVith something kind and good to say ; 
T'.iat thing unknown — a slanderous tongue, 
Tjong vcariri ago when we were young. 

liOng years ago, when but a child. 
The country then a fastness wild ; 
The forest then unbroke — sublime, 
Unscathed by art or ruthless time ; 
The wild winds sang their anthems free, 
All seemed a blissful unity ; — 
All seemed ensanguined to engage 
Within this lovely heritage. 

'Twas then and there, and then alone, 

That honesty and truth were known ; 

'Twas then you found the truth revered, 

And falsehood too, alike was feared; — 

Ti'iit]i did then this realm pervade. 

And falsehood went for naught — unpaid ; 

The scene has changed, tho' strange it may seem^^ 

But falsehood now kicks up the beam. 

191 



192 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The ladies tlien dressed neat and plain, 
Abhorred new styles — declared them vain ; 
The clothes they wore were all homespun, 
With their own skill 'twas neatly done ; 
With wheels and reel and native skill, 
ririey tortured wool with heart and will ; 
Fi-<")m the snowy fleece they donned the guise. 
Of innocence and Paradise. 

'Twas from the garb the sheep once wore. 
That they made up their wardrobe store ; 
'Twas from this tissue snowy white 
They formed a woof of texture light ; 
They changed its tints to suit their taste, 
With homely drugs that's now a waste. 
They did these tasks from day to day; 
And sang their songs so blithe and gay. 

They'd change the shade from black to brown, 
Have colored stripes run up and down. 
Or have the stripes run 'round when dressed, 
'Tvvaa just which way they liked it best; 
The waliuit bark and peach combine 
To make tlieir beauteous garments shine, 
Each had a stripe they claimed their own, 
• In which home drugs the brightest shone. 

Each dame would own a handkercheif. 
Bound 'round her head in bold relief; 
A charm like this cut nice and square. 
Was prized and owned by every fair ; 
It oft' the place of hat supplied. 
When 'neath the chin the corners tied ; 
As we recall that distant day, * 
Still we claim the sty le was gay. 



LINUS TO WNSEND, 

T'lax— bounteous i,^V-would change the theme, 
And add new waifs in fancy's dream, 
Awake with art a new device, 
Which gave the cloth a texture nice ; 
A web unto the loom would go, 
Well prepared from flax and tow, 
Wool most likely formed the chain, — 
Eight threads were dyed and ten left plrin. 

This fabric all's plied in a woof, 
Has formed a web with tissue soft ; 
The web's complete — it leaves the loom, 
EoUed up in style and c xrried home ; 
The matron gets it with delight, 
The children too enjoy the sight. 
Each stripe and color's now extolled — 
They think it lovely to behold. 

[N'ow with a smile on every face. 
Upon a shelf it finds a place, 
(Their wants were few, with ease supplied, 
They all were plain, yet none denied) — 
The rest is short — the roll enjoys, 
As the home routine it now destroj^s, 
The web has found no time for rest, 
From coming down to be caressed. 

The time soon came when shears and art 
Proportioned 'round each one their part ; 
The web assumes a new surprise. 
By being shaped in" homely guise ; 
This family's now in linseys dressed, 
We'll leave them now in peace to rest, 
And grope around 'midst ancient lore 
For what we've seen and heard bafore. 



194 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Come, trusty muse, let us turn once more, 
Unto those scenes of bygone lore, 
Awake once more those bygone scenes, 
From which long time now intervenes ; 
Through which joy and sorrow^ — ill matched pr. 
Has had and claim an equal share ; 
We'll turn again in silent tears, 
And view once more departed years. 

We'll turn with care each light and s * de. 
To find which has an impress made, 
And compare in our careworn minds 
The darker with the lighter lines ; 
Those lines engraved long years ago, 
Made deep with stamp of weal or woe ; 
With tender care we'll con it o'er, 
The debris of forgotten lore. 

The social orb has changed its spheres, 
Within those long succeeding years ; 
As down the stream of time w^e glide, 
Adriffcing with the changing tide ; 
The modes and fashions change each year, 
Which makes old styles look quaint and queer. 
We'll now proceed with the contrast. 
Betwixt the present and the past. 

Long years ago w^hen we were young, 
Scores of birds for one now sung, 
The enraptured choir would prolong, 
And cheer us with their grovy song; 
A boundless forest did then pervade. 
To guard them with its covert shade, 
AVith groves and brakes on ever-, side, 
Made up a forest dense and wi (]>_-. 



LINUS TOWNSEND, 

Tongue and pen, both now must fail 
To shade with truth this bygone tale. 
Or give right color to the shade, 
That time and tide since then has made ; 
How ruthless art has changed the scene, 
From forests dense and living green ; 
How arborous shades — arcadian bowers, 
Devised to us these homes of ours. 

Those homes of ours, rude, uncouth, 
Bright shelters of our bygone youth ; 
Were built of logs, misshaped, unhewn, 
Artless, unbarked, just as they'd grown — • 
ISTot two alike in bark or kind. 
In shapeless knots or tortuous winds ; 
Hickory, gum, white ash or oak — 
They made no choice — all kinds they took, 

No rule or square — they were cut by guess, 
Some the right length, some more, some less ; 
When all those logs were put in place, 
Without regard to line or face ; 
Logs cleft in twain supplied a floor. 
On wooden hinges swung the door ; 
And every time that door referred, 
A woeful screech at once was heard. 

The house it formed a queer device. 

The corners protruding out so nice ; 

The logs most always changed about. 

Two short ones in, three long ones out; 

The cracks were chinked with stones and sticks,, 

And finished off with mud well mixed, 

It formed an abode with comforts nice. 

For gentle folks, for bugs and mice. 



196 ORDINAL POEMS. 

This way was built the liumble cot, 
Of those who were long since forgot ; 
Who reared amidst the forest gloom, 
An humble, plain and happy home ; 
Here peace and comfort reared a throne, 
And strife and discord w^ere nnknow^n. 
Unbroken deep the solitude, 
In which this peaceful hamlet stood. 

Around this cot in evening shade, 
Uncouth in groups their children played, 
Whilst neat before that humble hearth 
Toiled a dame of matchless worth ; 
Preparing with care their frugal meal. 
As onward slow the gloom would steal. 
With one slight shade upon her brow, 
As dusky eve was gathering low. 

Her absent liege out on the chase. 
Produced this shade upon her face ; 
The hardy yeoman without fear, 
Dauntless pursues the nimble deer ; 
He in the chase at length succeeds. 
Then home again he quickly speeds, 
The shade's dispelled from off her brow, 
-As safely home's her husband now. 

At home- once more the happy twain. 
Surround their frugal fare again, 
That inviting steams upon the board, 
■Of dainties such backwoods afford ; 
The forest yields a good supply 
From treasured stores that in it lie. 
The dimpling stream that flows along 
Shares with them too its scaly throng. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. ■ 197 



Thrice iiappy then our pristine home, 
Deep nestling in the woodland gloom, 
Long weary years since then have flown, 
Since we claimed thee as our own ; 
Years gone by and it was there 
We first received infantile care, 
And there beneath thy humble roof 
We grateful share the homespun woof. 

One link more in this rhythmic chain, 
Corroded, still we see it plain ; 
Deep rusted with long by-gone years, 
Still bright and plain the link appears. 
Time moves on with silent wheels, 
Unconscious too the moments steal. 
But leave impressions of the past. 
That will and must forever last. 

We will now dispense the scutching bee, 
Made up of youth, bold, generous, free; 
Assembled on some chosen spot, 
Near by some frontier humble cot. 
Prepared with cropper, knife and stock. 
To scutch out flax, to court and talk ; 
As here's dispensed in artless rhyme. 
And have a good old-fashioned time. 

Each twain neat clad in homespun guise. 
Determined too to win the prize, 
Has so arranged to place each stock, 
That they might hear as well as talk ; 
And as they scutched and news conveyed, 
(]!ould hear with ease what each one said ; 
As thus in pairs w^e have them placed, 
It suits our rhythm as well as their taste. 



198 ORIGINAL FOE]\hS. 

The males were stalwart, brawny armed, 
The females too alike were charmed ; 
All went to work with good intent, 
Until the flax and daj^ were spent ; 
Scutching knives flew thick and fast, 
And tow and shoves mixed with tlie blest ; 
The scutchers laughed, they talked and sung, 
Until with din the welkin rung. 

The scutchers ceased, the flax is done. 
The busy day, the sport and fun; 
Two spinsters are detailed by lot, 
To number out each ball or knot ; 
Onward Avith care they would proceed, 
Eendering each two their proper meed, 
Until at length the count is made. 
And in distinct piles the bolts are laid. 

The hostess appears well satisfied. 
And thanks by her to none's denied ; 
All had engaged in the contest, 
But only two had victory blest ; 
All now relax in sport again. 
And happy greet the lucky twain. 
All pass away in joke and fun. 
The triumph they in bolts had won. 

A duty have the ladies now. 
Its brushing off the dust and tow. 
At which they do proceed with care, 
To plait and smooth their ringlets fair ; 
As charming on each rustic brow. 
As bangs look on the fairest now. 
Those ladies now in homespun dressed, 
Now calmly wait the coming feast. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. . 199 



The feast it has been long prepared, 
The time alone has been deferred ; 
Until some lass with taste less staid, 
Would have her artless toilet made, 
On an extra curl, fold or plait, 
Would have the anxious consort wait, 
At length the truant quirk's produced, 
And too the fold and plait's reduced. 

A il now take seats with one accord, 
Around the seething festive board, 
Ere long the pliant fork and knife, 
Commingle in the busy strife : 
The plates are helped with formal haste, 
In just the way that suits them best : 
Some chose roast and some take boil. 
But little's left when done to spoil. 

The sun's now sank deep in the West, 
The supper's o'er, the dishes washed. 
The table takes a new disguise. 
As each board a seat supplies ; 
And stretched around the wall uncouth. 
Those boards make seats and table both. 
The room is spacious, long and wide, 
With ample room for seats each side. 

The anxious group's all seated 'round. 
In silence and homespun profound. 
Each in a whisper would convey 
The Avord he was constrained to say ; 
Awaiting for the thing and time, 
^•'That we'll disclose in artless rhyme," 
Hoping the time would soon arrive, 
That would partake of fun alive. 



200 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The shades of night came stealing on — 
Darkness filling wood and lawn ; 
One candle's now placed in the room, 
To break the darkness and the gloom ; 
When lo : a sound so sweet and clear, 
Broke gently on each listening ear ; 
Louder still each plaintive strain, 
Thrills the native ear again. 

Each heart beats now, 'tis just the thing: 
The horse-hair bow and cat-gut string, 
The pulse beats free, the feet and heart. 

All to the music take a part 

E're long the strings are tuned and stiuug,, 
And on the cords old "Natchez " rung; 
Another light's at length prepared — 
In making light, two candles shared. 

The room was neither dark, nor light, 
The shade was just 'twixt day and niglit,. 
Light just enough to see to court, 
To hug the girls, to dance and sport ; 
A thing the boys most promptly done. 
Was hug and kiss : but all in fun ; 
The time flew past, but not in vain. 
Our pastimes all were quaint and plain. 

All knew the practice just as well 
As muse and pen in rhyme can tell ; 
The room just nicely held one sett. 
Was crowded more than full with eight. 
With one accord they all agreed, 
Their mutual rights to room concede, 
As back and forth they nimbly go 
Upon the "light fantastic toe." 



LINUS TOWNSEND, 201 

Each sett, more nimble than the last, 
Would hop and skip with greater haste ; 
They would perform still greater feats 
Than those who had just taken seats; 
The fiddler too would turn and screw, 
In hope to bring out something new ; 
Those on their seats would sad deplore 
A lack of room upon the floor. 

They danced square fours, jigs and reels, 
Until you'd thought the floor would yield ; 
At every turn for breath they'd pant, 
Still through the maze they'd whirl and rant; 
They toil, and sweat from every pore, 
Until out-done they leave the floor ; 
Another sett the theme renews, 
A nimbler foot the dance pursues. 

Worn out the fiddlers' music ceased, 

All's satisfied — the girls at least ; 

Now to retire all give consent. 

With fun and frolic are content ; 

Each to find their humble home. 

With absence fill the dance and room, 

Dispense awhile with fun and iiax, 

And with their girls make homeward tracks. 

We know they would at home arrive, 
For mutually that way they strive ; 
No shades of night then interfered. 
As home in two's the scutchers steered. 
It was neither dark, nor light. 
For day was just succeeding night ; 
Now safe at home, we'll let them rest, 
For in that way it suits them bo- 1. 



•202 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Those daj^s gone by — long since forgot, 
It rained and shone, was cold and hot; 
The sun as now lit up the day, 
The moon as now, with silvery ra}^ 
Made light the deep, lone midnight sky 
And trod the azure temple high. 
Upon whose arch God has alone, 
Not built by hands, a spacious throne. 

All studded 'round His diadem, 

A brilliant, sparkling midnight gem ; 

Spangling in the dome as clear, 

As e're upon the by -gone year. 

The breathing zephyers are the same, 

That now along float quaint and tame ; 

The autumn winds drift, moan and sigh. 

As they have done long years gone by. 

All with us the hand of time 
Has changed in rythm and in rhyme, 
Has changed the forest and the shades 
To hopeful, fertile, fruitful meads ; 
The woodman's axe no longer's heard, 
The grubbers' toilsome task's deferred ; 
The woodlands, forests — dense and vast, 
Are numbered with the by-gone past. 

But deep within our memories cling, 
The woodman's axe, shrill echos ring; 
"We hear the crashing, falling oak, 
Yield to his ever busy stroke ; 
The flail has ceased its woeful thud, 
In circlings dire since the flood. 
We see its dreary motions dread — 
Although long ^^ears have since then fled. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. PO:; 

Again our ever faithful muse 

Its boundless task once more renews, , 

Attempts the graspless theme once more 

Old times domain vast to explore ; 

Ever capricious, ruthless time, 

Keduce transition into rhyme; 

This, the object of our muse 

Line by line the theme pursues. 

AVe little thought long years ago, 
When threshing flails were all the go, ^ 
That the time would ever come. 
When a separator's magic hum, 
With more than care would separate, 
The straw and chaff, and clean our wlieat; 
The work is done by horse or steam — 
Man's now awake, has ceased to dream. 

Long 3^ears ago, w^e little thought, 
That mowing scythes would be forgot ; 
When we were humped at every stroke, 
A¥e thought in fact our backs were broke ; 
All day long we'd toil and sweat, 
Until our pants and shirts were wet ; 
We little ]?:new what was in store — 
The ncAV light-running champion mower. 

We little thought just then that now, 
Hay would pass into the mow 
Without the aid of fork or stick. 
Would hoist away to bay or " rick ;" 
With just a rope and strange device 
Would pass aloof with ease, so nice ; 
Long years gone by we did not know. 
Art could make ha}", haul in and mow. 



204 ORIGINAL POEMS, 

Long years ago (we tliink the plow, 
In shape and make's qnite different now ;) 
Had beam alone eleven feet — 
-Fourteen in all when thought complete ; 
All made of wood, a strange device, 
The work they done was more than nice ; 
The plow of yore was free from guile, 
And too from iron paint and style. 

Now there's a plov/ for each man's taste, 
One thousand kinds and styles at least ; 
They're made of Iron, Steel, are chilled, 
Buy one : they're good, which one you will ; 
All painted up in colors bright, 
Some kinds are heavy, other light. 
Each does possess a hidden charm — • 
A 'Sesame,' boon, on every farm. 

Go to the farmers' sheds and find, 
Devices there of every kind. 
Devised by art and workmen's skill. 
The hoe, the harrow, plow and drill ; 
You'll find his wants are well supplied, 
His sheds are full and some outside ; 
But few to soothe the artisan's toil. 
But ruthless to grasp the bounteous spoil. 

The farmer plows, he sows and reaps, 
He mows and rakes and toils and sleeps ; 
He eats his butter, bread and cheese, 
He works or plays or rests at ease ; 
Thus he spends months, weeks and days, 
Monarch of all, he there surveys. 
With heart and head and hands at rest, 
"With home, with peace and plenty blessed.. 



LIN US TO WNSEND. 205 

God first taught man the way profound, 
To till and sow the fertile ground ; 
To work, replenish and subdue, 
All things to man were strange and new ; 
'Twas God's own work, 'twas His own hand, 
Which made and reared this beauteous land, 
Those hills and valleys all He made, 
And plains that man's so long surve^^ed. 

God gave to man a head as well 
As feet to walk, and tongue to tell ; 
A mind to con lifes mysteries o'er 
And thought the boundless th(>me explore. 
'Twas then man's prestige '^o subdue, 
To plan, devise, invent, renew. 
Control his fate, with mind and v/ill, • 
Supply his wants with art and skill. 

How man this great mandate obeys, 

In tuneful rhyme our muse conveys, 

In artless verse will here disclose 

What we have lived and learned in prose ; 

O'er what by-gone ages slept and dreamed, 

And by ourselves vain illusion seemed ; 

But now v»''e live, now realize 

What man once sawn in fancied guise. 

Long years ago, the pack-horse strode. 
The mountain path beneath his load ; 
With iron bars bent o'er his back. 
With salt and goods in bail and sack; 
This mountain path, year in and out, 
The pack-horse train pursued their route, 
O'er hill and dale, wearied, oppressed, 
Transporting trains moved East and West. 



206 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

But mark! a change's come o'er our dream, 
The mountain heights traversed by steam, 
Those pack-horse trains are seen no more, 
Are debris of forgotten lore ; 
Countless wheels o'er iron rails, 
The laden cars the engine trails, 
Tons now scale those mountains high, 
Steam-winged, with ease, those transports r;\ 

Progress now bears regal sway, 

And marks anew each coming day ; 

The elements too, subservient wait, 

Art now controls instead of fate ; 

Agents unseen now lend their aid 

Unto progression's magic trea^I, 

Lends Phantom wings gives serial thought. 

Transcends this dome with wonders fraught. 

Tongued lightening now communicates. 
And wields the wand o'er by-gone fates ; 
AUadin's blissful days are flown. 
Art, thoughtful art, now fills her throne ; 
Electric flash now speaks his praise. 
The dolesome dirge of by-gone days ; 
Ten thousand priceless gems are strewn 
And spangle 'round art's spacious throne. 

Whilst honest truth of homespun guise 
Still deep beneath the ruins lies, 
Truth, though crushed, will rise again— ^ 
An argent light, a brilliant flame, 
O'er which the dull, dark ages passed, 
A shade of gloom has overcast ; 
She'll live again, arise she must, 
Like Ph()3nix from her mouldering dust.. 



--fi^i^emenibeped-t-^till.'^- 



Forget you ! Oh ; I never will, 

Our friendship is too true ; 
As well might the pure purling stream 

Forget the mountain dew ; 
Yes, and the sportive butterfly 

Forget the beauteous flower. 
Or the birdling in its grovey home, 

Leave its chosen bower. 

I'll hoard fond memories of thee, 

As I would a treasure dear. 
And expect increasing interest 

With each succeeding year ; 
I'll hold them with a miser's grasp — • 

Like more than earthly store. 
And in the lonely midnight hour 

I'll con my treasure o'er. 

Those memories shall never cease 

As long as life's athrill, 
I will have thy sweet I'emembrance 

Linger around me still. 
I'll wear them as a charm by day, 

To keep the treasure bright, 
They'll also tinge the weary hours 

That fill the dreamy night. 

The throne that fond affection bears^ 

]N'o power can overthrow ; 
It gilds the dazzling charm of fame, 

And soothes the pang of woe. 
Love is a charm perennial, 

A plant that never dies. 
Which angels to congenial plains 

Transfer beyond the skies. 



♦^^l'lie<-Liri.gering4'I^ay.-< 



The sun midst the light clouds was slowly declining 

Behind the green hills of the far distant West ; 
But a soft, silent ray amongst the emeralds still lingered, 

Tinting with gold the green mountain crest ; 
Whilst low down beneath a brooklet meandered 

Amongst the green trees that spanned it quite o'er, 
Where gaily once more in youth's happy fancy, 

I found myself rambihig alone on its shore. 

We saw this bright ray, its gold wings enchanted 

Weave its bright tints with the branches aloof; 
When lo ! the dusk of a neighboring headland 

Broke with its shadow the magical Avoof ; 
A few scattered pines contrasted their foliage 

With an humbler growth whose shade was less green, 
Clothing the vast hillside — entangling wildwood, 

Intensing the interest involving the scene. 

The whole view depeiiding, seemed bathing in rapture, 

Resolving there sweetly in the calmest repose. 
And the zephyrs light-winged appeared too, to slumber. 

And the moon far away in silence arose. 
Ah ! but too soon this bright charm evanescent — 

A soft twilight eve of June intervenes ; 
A sombre shade steals o'er the bright glowing landscape. 

And the gold-tinting ray withdraws from the scene. 

Leaves night to fall on wood, hill and dale. 

And its dark sombre shade to cover them o'er, 
A-nd the dimpling brook to dance in the vale, 

And its ripple in silence to break on its shore ; 
This beautiful vision — my day dream — had vanished, 

And the gold-tinting myth forever had flown, 
And we seemed in the gloom the woodland surrounded. 

To breathe in its raptures by moonlight alone. 

20s 



'-t.£ 



-^^^^ssassination-t'Cf-t-Qarfieldr^^^ 



For tlie misfortune of our President 

The nation deeply mourns, 
As between liope and fear, life and death, 

The fearful balance turns ; 
The magic wires unceasing speed 

The alternate news along. 
Whilst intensely 'round the corners wait 

The mighty seething throng. 

Countless anxious hearts pulsate, 

O'er mountain, hill and dale, 
To hear the mysterious lightning flash, 

That bears the woeful tale ; 
With one grateful meed of sympathy, 

The nation's heart is filled, 
Whilst congenial strains from foreign lands 

The swelling echo thrills. 

The sounds resonant mount on high, 

With dire meaning roll, 
As with the swelling of a note, 

The nations too condole ; 
The village bells all now unite 

In one continuous chime, 
And fraught with unity invoke 

Consanguine and sublime. 

The steel within a maniac grasp 

Has renewed a lustre bright, 
Has led discordant rills again 

In one stream to unite ; 
A country largely blest like ours, 

With every want supplied, 
Koom for all — wide, spacious room 

For thousands left beside. 



The road of life, though short 

Is filled Avith d\ist and care, 
Our hapless transit on the way 

Is bleared with many a tear; 
All the joys and pleasure 

We meet upon the way. 
Are closely pursued by sorrow, 

Accom.panied by dismay. 

And when we meet kind fortune 

She greets us with a tear, 
But soon within her magic train's 

The presage of despair ; 
The morning sun may rise anon. 

In raptures, bright and clear. 
Before 'tis night those beams of light 

In clouds will disappear. 

As travelers we anxiously 

Ascend the mountains high. 
And wander on in lonely vales 

Through which the passages lie ; 
Deep chasms of a fearful depth, 

Along the way are found. 
And horrid yawning caverns mouth's 

Make dire the fatal ground. 

Steep grades with abrupt descents, 

And startling defiles, 
Along the tortuous road of life 

The traveller beguiles ; 
And seething, gushing torrents wild, . 

Rush down on every side. 
Leaving in their watery wakes 

A devastation wide. 

210 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 211 

Envenomed serpents on the path, 

With forked tongues appear, 
Well hid amidst the trailing yines 

In wait are lying near; 
With slimy coils and hideous folds 

Infest the grassy plain, 
With treachery and poisoned fangs 

Inflicts corrosive pain. 

Appalled the traveller turns aside, 

In horror and dismay, 
Uncertain on such dangerous ground, 

And timorous feels his way ; 
With countless dangers he's beset, 

In morning, noon and night. 
The sun appears a hazy moon 

And clouds obscure the light. 

At undefined long intervals 

Flowery clumps may bloom. 
And waste upon the desert air 

A rich and sweet perfume. 
The butterfly may sip its dews, 

Impassioned linger there, 
But amidst its gaudy folds 

The adder sets his snare. 

When we at length have run our course 

With transits quite complete. 
And within some happy goal 

We fmd a safe retreat, — 
Relieved of toils and dangers 

By which we were oppressed, 
In peace we'll spend Eternity 

And be forever blest. 



-J«']Vly<-p:aitliful-t-p]7ierid.-s^- 



Oh, come now, my little Fan, 

And nestle on my knee, 
As I can claim no truer friend 

To share the gloom with me; 
I am satisfied, my little ward, 

That you're without deceit, 
For days and weeks you've followed me, 

Keposing at my feet. 

Long weary years I've realized, 

In battling with life, 
And by my friends deserted too, 

Whilst engaging in the strife ; 
Now by a long experience 

I find none so true as Fan, 
That's why I draw the line so strong 

Between my dog and man. 

I once could boast a host of friends, 

But they as butterflies, 
Do all take wing and flee away 

When adverse clouds arise ; 
No adverse cloud, nor thickeniiig gloom 

Can mar the sympathy 
That my ever grateful little Fan 

Now entertains for me. 

When kind fortune favored me. 

My friends would gather around. 
But when she ceased to smile on me 

They fl<id the fatal ground ; 
Deceptively they cherished me, 

With lies upon their tongue, 
And robbed me of my brightest hopes, 

When I was free and young. 

212 



LINUS TOIVNSEND, 213 

Oh, come, my little protege, 

And sit upon my Inee, 
Ob , it is sad I recognize 

No truer friend than thee; 
I will caress you tenderly 

As you do lick my hand, 
And curse the glowering sycophants 

That prowl throughout the land. 

My kindred are amongst those 

That sv;ell the guilty horde, 
And the fleeting trains both East and 'Vestj 

Have full supplies on board ; 
Those miscreants still, unconsciously 

AYalk boldly on the street, 
But quail beneath the ardent gaze 

Of honest men they meet. 

They turn aside and leave the way, 

And shrink with innate fear, 
And timidly they falter by 

When upright men appear. 
We have that part within us, 

A soul that never dies, * 

Who with Satan and his guiles 

There is no compromise. 
With winning grace, the sacred pools 

Those miscreants surround. 
And with defiling, leprous touch 

Pollute the sacred ground ; 
With faith intense they hug that god 

With them that's held so dear, 
And close around the sacred ground 

These vultures hover near. 



214 OEI^INAL POEMS. 

With their long faces smooth and clean, 

Away to church they sneak, 
And fill their pews with sycophantry, 

And worship once a week ; 
AVith easy tread they seek their homes, 

And doff their Sunday gear, 
And then conceive once more they're free 

From danger and from fear. 

They too conceive their work complete 

When members ot the church, 
That they have slipped old Satan's noose. 

And left him in the lurch ; 
Oh, now once more my little Fan, 

I see you bounding free, 
And feel the pulsing honest heart, 

As you sit on my knee. 

Why does this canine's gentle touch 

Thus fill me with delight. 
Is it not that oil unmixed with drugs. 

Affords a better lisjht? 
The pure, purling mountain stream 

That's ever dimpling free. 
Reflects in its unchanging rill 

A sweeter charm for me. 

My muse has filled the mystic page, 

And plumed its ample Aving, 
And now seeks amongst the mazy woof 

A more congenial string; 
Has fled and left me here alone, 

With a sad, sad destiny, 
And left me naught but little Fan 

To share the gloom with me. 



It was in a season of unrest, 
I sought where it would suit me best ; 
Where in some deep lone solitude 
I'd with my favorite fancies brood, 
There in some deep, secluded groye 
Apart from care awhile might rove ; 
The objective point was now to find 
That spot just suited to my mind. 

My wants supplied — they were but few, 
The want with me w^as something new; 
I sallied forth from my abode, 
Kegardless of which way I strode, 
'Twas in the morn I ventured forth, 
Unconscious which way — South or North, 
Methinks 'twas neither East nor West, 
'Twas just the way that suited best. 

It was the way my fancy led, 
As I on rural conquest sped ; 
No one with me — was all alone. 
To ,ihare with me; I sought for none ; 
My muse, bright winged, bore company. 
The air untaxed, I breathed it free; 
No one as yet, with art so skilled, 
Has from the argent air distilled, — ■ 

The nectar from the drifting breeze, 
Incompetent for self increase ; 
But on that bright auspicious morn 
Each passive object seemed adorned, 
Each sparkling gem of dimpling dew 
Was tinctured with ambrosial dew. 
Reclining sweetly in repose, 
Within the bosom of the rose. 

21.-. 




216 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Iraiiaaculate there did recline, 
Within those rosy folds divine ; 
Upon each slender tapering blade 
A sparkling diamond tribute paid ; 
Languished there in raptures free, 
In accord with divine decree; 
All, all was balmy, calm, serene, 
^Esthetic, grand, this glorious scene, 

Sanguine with hope I did pursue. 

The road to me was strange and new, 

At every turn there did unfold 

And in each nook fresh charms behold ; 

Far, far away unto the rip^ht 

The landscape stretched — a beauteous sights 

There too out on the expanding left. 

Without a charm was it bereft. 

The mountains high through hazy gleams, 
Were bathing there in sunny beams ; 
The hill tops too each sloping side, 
All, all partook of charms allied ; 
The vales that stretched away out East 
Added their dainties to the feast. 
The valleys that extended West 
With views sublime were truly blest. 

The North M,nd South with bowers green^, 
' With raptures filled the glorious scene; 

A countless host of fragments 'round 
All tend to make chaos profound. 
No two alike, but all combine 
To make the landscape true sublime, 
A holy calm now did pervade 
That vast unbounded woodland ^;:ade. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 217 

In contemplation deep profound 
I viewed with awe this sacred ground, 
With naught to break the grand surprise; 
Nor aught «o Mar its beauteous guise; 
There amidst the bowers I strode alone, 
And worshipped at the sylvan throne, 
I was with inspiration filled 
And every magic tissue thrilled. 

A siren lay — enchanting theme, 
Broke soothingly the magic dream, 
On zephyrs light came drifting near, 
With raptures filled my listening ear ; 
In cadence sweet the music M], 
Ke-echoing from each vale and dell, 
The burden of this woodland song 
The grovy choir did prolong. 

Each tiny songster did rejoice 
Within the bower of its choice. 
And each with lithe and happy tongue, 
The woods in one sweet choir rung; 
Long I might have lingered there 
And breathed insate the fragrant air, 
How long enchanted cannot tell ; 
Or how transition broke the spell. 

Was it transition in disguise 
That broke Old Adam's sweet surprise; 
To Eve's, and his and all our cost, 
That Paradise and hope were lost ? 
It is not my providence he -e to tell, 
How or why our parents fell ; 
Or from a woeful snakeship tread, 
That Eve away from virtue fled. 



218 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

But here alone within the grove, 
L/istening to sweet songs of love ; 
Hearing from many an artless tongue, 
The happy woodland anthems sung; 
As countless tiny throats here swell. 
And on the sacred chorus dwell ; 
Thu3 free from care, from sin and guile, 
Away their happv prestige while. 

Here too amidst the clouds o'erhead 
The giant oak with limbs outspread, 
Whose mighty trunks and sturdy forms 
Had stood the crash of wind and storm ; 
Those landmarks of revolving time, 
I sav\^ at once with thoughts sublime, 
Ages with them no doubt had passed, 
Since they as sentinels stood the blast. 

Here a thick growth of underwood 
Beneath these graceful monarchs stood. 
The dogwood and the trailing vine 
With mutual efforts did combine. 
To form an arch, within whose shade 
The dainty coon and rabbit played ; 
H®r© with instincts closely allied 
They sport beneath the umbrage wide. 

A purling brook flowed rippling near. 

Through whose bright sparkling waters clear. 

The tiny fish in sportive glee 

Swift glide amidst the dimples free; 

Anon ! I bade those scenes adieu. 

And with a sad reluctance too ; 

Those landscapes fair, whose artless guise 

Benew the theme of Paradise. 



•^^^^xi't-Adirertiseiricntr^^i- 



Ed closed we send our friends and foes 
An anodyne to soothe their woes; 
A narcotic that we'll insure 
On those who are sick to effect a cure. 

And to the halt, the lame and blind 
The way to health and peace to find, 
And when free from life's dull load of care 
You may find a cup of comfort there. 

"When seated at your board of bliss, 
And sipping of a cup of this, 
Quaffing sweet ambrosial dew, 
And inhaling its aroma too. 

It is Java that we here enclose, 
And to our customers here propose 
To fill each package full and just, 
Our terms are cash, we cannot trust. 

The system once in faith we tried, 
And sought for trust ourselves beside ; 
We found out when our bills came due. 
That they were lost — our credit too. 

Those packages upon the shelves. 
Are browned, prepared all by ourselves ; 
Come, take one package as a test. 
You'll find its flavor of the best. 

And when you want a fresh supply. 
We know again our stock you'll try. 
You'll find these lines contain the truth, 
These packages and verses both. 

219 



My dear friends and comrades, 

I hope you'll lend an ear, 
Whilst I relate an incident 

That lately happened near. 
It was in early morning 

And all was bright and gay, 
When" slowly there went np the road, 

A well trimmed load of hay. 

Three clowns were perched on top, 

Who were glowing with delie;ht ; 
They knew the load was equipoised. 

The booming pole was tight ; 
Hans cracked his whip a fusilade, 

The horses struck a trot, 
A dog close by just dropped his tail, 

And fled across the lot. 

The horses then with tails erect, 

The wheels with speed spun 'rounds 
And sixteen well ironed hoofs. 

Went clattering o'er the ground ; 
With increasing speed they hurry on. 

The cottages pass by, 
And the groves upon the gentle slope 

In eddying circles fly. 

The group with fun was all aglow, 

Their happiness complete, 
When slip-shod upon the road 

Some laughing girls they meet. 
It was the clowns upon the hay 

Who caused those nymphs to smile,, 
With rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes,, 

Well dressed in country style. 

220 



LINUS TOWNSEND, 22i 

Most impolite they ask these girls, 

(Those clowns upon the hay,) 
How old they were — what impudence, 

How much they'd likely weigh. 
Of course these damsels answered not 

Those questions of the "Jakes," 
But modestly they turned away 

And onward fled the "Kakes." 

Onward with fun and frolic, 

They hurry up the road, 
Regardless of the corn and hay. 

The wagon or the load; 
The whip snapped and the luny's yelled, 

The trembling wheels flew 'round, 
The hay it flopped from side to side 

And slightly touched the ground. 

The furies from the cannon's mouth 

Their wanton force will spend, 
And their reckless transit too 

Has found its journey's end. 
As quick as thought the team's unhitched, 

And kindly housed away. 
With corn in plenty placed in reach, 

And mangers filled with hay. 

With dainties fine, our ardents now, 

Their hunger to appease, 
In perspective at a public Inn 

Were awaiting at their ease ; 
There, in a happy blissful dream, 

Reclining in repose. 
When from a cause unknown to them, 

A dread turmoil arose. 



222 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

"With screams that broke the silent spell,. 

That reigned around the Inn ; 
A female voice in sad dismay, 

Commingled with the din. 
There horrid oaths, rehearsed in prose, 

Thrilled on the autumn air, 
With menace fraught preceding blows. 

And closed in pulling hair. 

A belligerent force on either side, 

Kept up this wild ado ; 
No hostile corps in dire array, 

As there were only two. 
Wild despair and pulling hair, 

Filled with discordant cries; 
The female side triumph declaroil — 

There's w^here the beauty lies. 

The ardents now were soon prepai-ed. 

To leave the troubled scene, 
And with well fed and sprightly steeds 

Increased the space between ; 
Now satiate and safe at home, 

Kecount the events of the day ; 
And how kind fortune favored them 

While they were hauling hay. 

Moral : When cruel words, which wrongs precede, 

Break out in angry strife; 
Should wicked oaths and fearful slang 

Belong to man and wife ? 
Ah, no ; they should the muse consult, 

And gently turn to where 
Its said : their hands were never made 

To pull each other's hair. 



-Jj-'W'ilitep's-t-I'lirall.t;- 

.J5tern winter yet with mighty thrall, 

O'er valley, summit, dale and hill, 
Spreads out his bleak and dreary pall, 

And pierces with an icy chill ; 
And here beneath his silent bed, 

A covering of fleecy white. 
The dormant germ sleeps with the dead, 

Reposing in the wintry night. 

The drowsy buds await the call. 

The cheery voice of coming Spring ; 
Her gentle hand to raise the pall. 

And back the icy curtain fling ; 
And in her soft and soothing tone. 

Bid the wearied sleeper rise, 
And leave her dreary latent throne. 

And join in with the new surprise. 

In her presence hail the theme, 

Awakening of the new born year, 
And from her frowning wintry dream 

Behold the smiling Spring appear ; 
The gaudy nymph with charms anew 

Spangling valley, hill and plain. 
And with the bounding zephyrs too. 

Kind welcome back sweet Spring again. 

We love the greeting Summer note. 

Contrasting with drear Winter's sighs, 
To see her now bright winged afloat. 

Athwart the azure tinted skies, 
To breathe the fragrant drifting spray ; 

List to the rapture of her song, 
And see each glorious opening day 

Awakened by the twittering throng. 

223 



flie^'Pleecy-^CIoU' ds.-^i- 

Low and light the fleecy clouds, 

Float beneath the deep blue sky 
Fleeting across the fields and groves, 

Their shades go drifting by, 
"Whilst soft and light the sun's bright ray 

Pierce through their downy brims, 
Still o'er the landscape far and wide 

The subtle shadow skims. 

And like a fleeting day dream 

They gently speed away, 
Into the blue ethereal dome 

Or sink in silent spray ; 
Light winged into the azure waste, 

They seek a realm unknown. 
Where the Storm King crowned with cyclones 

Reposes on his throne. 

Where the deep toned thunder echoes, 

And vibrates on its shores, 
The thick gloom of the midnight 

Its sable curtains lowers ; 
Here the furies hold their vigils 

On this hoary midnight plain, 
And the monarch of the tempest, 

Reigns o'er this vast domain. i 

Here chaos fills with terrors, | 

This Empire far and wide, '!< 

And her worlds dead — crushed in vain. 

Drift on its serial tide ; ^ 

And systems in sad confusion 

Upon it waves are tossed, 
'Till stranded on its dismal shore. 

Or strewn on its wide coast. 

224 



( 



-p^/iu-oograpn. 



I'll bid farewell to fancies' flights, 

Adieu to thee,^ Ideal, 
And I'll seek for something new, 

Something that is real ; 
I fear that I have dallied long. 

Until that I've grown old, 
My comrades all have left me. 

Yes, left me in the cold. 

The little birds they all have mates. 

And all appear so kind ; 
Each pair of warblers have a nest, 

Together have it lined. 
Blithely morning, noon and night 

They sing out in their tree. 
But hearken to the plaintive notes 

The song that's sung by me. 

I'll cease to sing those cheery notes 

Which filled my heart with glee, 
But leave those songs to gayer tongues, 

And lighter hearts than me ; 
For a gloomy sadness now pervades — 

I feel as though alone. 
With varied, gay and happy scenes, 

But I am cheered with none. 

I'll seek for some congenial mind 

To share my solitude ; 
And presumptions to my lonely lair. 

His footsteps may intrude ; 
I hope kind fate will grant the boon 

That fortune has denied — 
A cottage home beneath the bowers, 

A husband too, beside. 



--^jliberriciI-t'GIondsri^- 

Hibernal clouds tliick, sombre fill, 

The deep, blue, azure sky, 
Or on the swift borean breeze, 

Go fiercely drifting by. 
The waning sun, far in the West, 

Looks faintly from the sky, 
And on the snowy crest beneath, 

The snow drifts gently lie. 

Anon ! upon the stormy breach, 

He sheds a sickly ray, 
Then quietly unto his bed 

He gently sinks away, 
And leaves the earth in icy thrall. 

In midnight and in gloom, 
With naught, save the angry storm. 

As silent as the tomb. 

The torpid buds in silence sleep, 

Beneath the snowy crest ; 
The latent flowers too repose. 

Upon their chilly breast — 
Waiting for the genial spring, 

To break their deep repose. 
And the tepid breath of summer. 

To melt away the snows. 

O'er all deep silence now prevails, 

IsTot one appealing voice 
To wake the slumbering flowers sweetj 

Or make our hearts rejoice ; 
'No, not one single birdling dear. 

To trill the notes of spring, 
Or form a choir in the boughs, — 

We long to hear them sing. 

226 



LIN US TO WNSENB. 227 

The thrall of winter soon must 5^ield, 

A dripping wintry chain, 
And a soothing balmy breeze once more, 

Drift o'er the suffering plain ; 
Awaken from her wintry couch 

The zephyrs breathing spring, 
Who will quickly from her weary bed 

The gloomy curtain fling. 

To sally forth at early morn 

And sip the salient dews. 
To tip her gaudy dress at dawn, 

In ever changing hues, 
And with a fairy charm at noon 

To change the wintry scene. 
And with a magic brush in hand 

To paint the landscape green. 

The pollen of the flower she spreads, 

O'er landscape far and wide. 
But with the dusky evergreen 

She decks the mountain side ; 
One summer charm bleak winter claims 

Contrasting with its snows, 
Within the guise the hemlock wears, 

Those sable charms repose. 

Oh ; when will those hibernal clouds 

Disperse and hide their gloom — 
With dire presaging dusky hues 

As dismal as the tomb ? 
I'll breathe no more the balmy breeze 

Of soft alluring spring, 
Nor listen to the rapturous notes 

Her concert loves to sinu'. 



— ^s^yi-t-Day-t-Dreani.-s^- 



We oft retrace with measured strides, 

Long weary years gone by ; 
"VVe stroll once more 'midst scenes by-gone 

And do it with a sigh ; 
Once more in the deep shady wood 

We swing upon a vine, 
Or in a fitful childish mood 

Beneath its shades recline. 

Again we see the dainty squirrel. 

Skip light and free from limb to limb, 
And high among the arching boughs, 

The trysting songsters gaily skim ; 
We see the busy chipmunk — sly, 

Lay up with care its winter's store, 
And with a sad and tearful eye 

Again those by-gone scenes explore. 

We see our ever faithful team 

Stand at our cottage door. 
And well known footsteps — in our dream. 

Hear rustling on the floor. 
Transient shades flit up and down, 

Familiar voices sounding near ; 
But sad and lone the fancied din. 

Thrills on the listening dreamer's ear. 

There busy feet trip nimbly 'round 

And fill with glee that noiseless space, 
And gloaming in the phantom sound 

Meet many a well remembered face. 
Now from the "past's " deep gloomy night, 

On weary A^dngs we seek our way. 
Once more to see the hallowed light — 

The vital beams of living day. 

228 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 229 

Once more we see the babiiy Spring, 

Far stretching o'er the flowery lea. 
We hear the mated concert sing 

Amidst the branchy forest tree ; 
Amidst the leafy bowers green 

We hear the birdlings chirp again. 
And low in sedgy depths unseen 

The cricket wails its dull refrain. 

In retrospection, dreamy guise, 

We see the sun sink in the West,. 
And in the East again arise 

In all its pristine splendor dressed ; 
Surmount the far off eastern hill, 

Wheel up into the azure sky, 
And with its bounteous rapture fill 

The serried landscapes drifting by. 

Those treasured landscapes well defined 

By many an old remembered spot, 
Renews within the care-worn mind, 

Fond cherished scenes long since forgot ; 
With youthful rapture fill once more 

The enchanted moments as they fly, 
And with relics of forgotten lore 

That 'round in thick profusion lie. 

Once more unto vital scenes of life 

We turn our weary feet again, 
To share with care and busy strife 

We leave the past dull, dreary plain ; 
We leave the past — its shades of gloom 

To solve the present's mysteries. 
To scan the futures Jofty dome — 

The pahited ha]] of de.-l"ii .'s. 



-4B^j5utuinri.-^- 



Autumn once more with languid strides 

Traverses o'er the course of time 
And through the dimming forest glides 

In dreary solitude — sublime ; 
Transition on the distant hills 

Has changed the emeralds to sere, 
And the murmurings of the dimpling rills 

Are in cadence with declining year. 

The Jay-bird pipes his summer notes 

Whilst passing o'er the fading vale, 
Which for a moment cheery floats, 

Then dies away a dismal wail; 
All nature now is clothed in gloom — 

Seems mourning for the dying year, 
The forest drooping 'round its tomb : 

A draping pageant, wan and sere. 

A wierd dirge now rustles throusjh 

The raptures of the pensive grove, 
And fills again with charms anew 

Those e\er dying scenes of love; 
Enchanting webs of golden haze 

Seem drifting in the ambiant air, .; 

The gossomer and silent rays 

In magic w^oof's suspended there. 

Now summer's gone, has passed away j 

With cheery spring forever flown, 'j 

Whilst along their paths deserted lay | 

The sweetest faded flowers strewn ; \ 

Dear emblems of our youth and Spring, 

Loved, sacred gems for thee we mourn 
Still fondly 'round our memories cling, 

Departed — never to return. 

2.']0 



^i^To't-p/Ianiie.'^- 



Another little spirit's broke 

Life's enthralling chain, 
On angel wings has passed away, 

To heaven's flowery plain, 
To meet her Saviour on his throne 

Eeceive his fond caress, 
To seek the bounty of his love 

And be forever blest. 

Friends may gather 'round her tomb 

And moisten with a tear, 
But angels in the midnight gloom 

Will fondly linger there ; 
Mowers, the endearing emblems, 

Of purity and love, 
Will grow profusely on her tomb. 

And sweetly bloom above. 

They too may mark with tender care, 

The place of her repose. 
Kind with those cherished tokens 

A loving heart bestowes ; 
But none can break the deep deep sleep — 

The slumber of the tomb, 
I^or dispel with loves sweet tokens 

The sadness of its gloom. 

We know her gentle spirit's free, 

Will be forever blest, 
^' Where the wicked cease from troubling 

And the weary are at rest ;" 
W^here sickness, sorrow, pain and death, 

Are all alike unknown. 
And the angels draped in glory, 

Surround Jehovah's throne. 

■281 



Flow oia dimpling streamlet, I love thee still niore, 
Aaad to© the green foliage that carpets thy shore, 

A^jlore the sweet flowers that bloom on thy side, 
As I do the bright ripples that break on thy tide. 

Thy murmuring's music that soothes my day dream, 
Flow on, gently flow, my own native strea,m ; 

The cold hand of trouble cannot fill with dismay. 
Or mar thy sweet pleasure, as you purl on your way.. 

Once an arcade of beauty spanned thee quite o'er, 
Then I rambled in childhood alone on thy shore ; 

•With an arch sprung by nature, a bower o'erhead, 
And thy surface reflecting those beauties outspread. 

I gathered up shells, snow-white and pink 
That lay in profusion along at thy brink, 

I picked up those shells alone in my glee. 
And watched thy pure waters dimpling free. 

O'er thy pebbly bed a transcendent display 

Of breaking in ripple the pure mountain spray ; 

I pursued my ov/n fancies — no cares to deplore 

And gathered those treasures that lay on thy shore. 

Or beheld in dense schools the young fish swimmii\g by,. 

Countless in numbers, both large and small fry ; 
Unconscious of danger they'd skim 'round a while, 

Amidst the green rushes their time would beguile. 

Thus my youth I spent freely beneath thy arcade. 
Or sought for bright treasures within thy cool shade ;:. 

When satiate with romance I'd repose there beneath 
This wide stretching arbor, this bowery wreath. 

232 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 233 

I've awoke from life's dream and its transit is o'er, 
And see changes most dire encompass thy shore; 

No more this grand arcade now shelters thy tide, 

Nor beneath its green arches thy smooth currents glide. 

The axe of thy foreman, the bold pioneer, 

Has despoiled thee of charms that in youth I held dear. 
Now here I alone sad and mutely deplore, 

This vandal-like change that has come to thy shore. 

In my dreams I still see thee in beauteous array. 
As when Sirean song drove cold winter away ; 

When the soft summer air drifted calm and serene, 
And broke into ripples the foliage so green. 

The sun still looks through with its soft beams of light, 

And pierces the mist with his arrows so light 
As radiant as when that green arcade spanned o'er. 

And the wild water lily bloomed fresh on thy shore. 

The moon like a queen from her temple on high 
Looks down from her throne in the blue azure sky. 

Her pale silvery ray all sublimely serene, 

On the nocturnal wave of my own native stream. 

Flow on gentle streamlet, thine's a bright destiny, 
Chains cannot enthrall thee — thy waters are free ; 

Free as the winds that drift placidly o'er. 

And thy waters will ripple 'till time is no more. 

Adieu to thee bright stream, a last fond adieu ; 

I will soon leave thy presence^ — recede from thy view ; 
The cold frowning tomb will soon pass her decree, 

But T^^^ own native stream will still ripple on free. 



1 



-4i^jiope.-i^- 



Hope long deferred will linger still, 
Our hearts with sweet emotions fill, 
And to the sad and care worn heart 
A consolation deep impart; 
Unto the earth. hopes mission here's 
To soothe our woes and banish fear ; 
Hope fills our souls with charms anew, 
And mitigates our burdens too. 

Hope is a part that never dies, 
Whose home's away beyond the skies, 
Where spirits roam with pure delight, 
And endless day excludes the night ; 
Hope bears away our spirits there, 
Freed from the thralls of earth and care, 
And finds relief for every woe. 
Whilst on this journey here below. 

When sable darkness fills our sky. 
And thick, dark clouds go drifting by, 
Hope cheers us with her argent light. 
Makes all within, to us, look bright ; 
Hope bears a light that always shines, 
And with its rays our hearts refines; 
No torch like hope that shines so clear, 
And makes our way so bright appear. 

Whilst sailing on the ocean crest, 
Hope lulls the fear within our breast. 
Dispels the dangers of the sea, 
Points to the bowers swinging free ; 
Points to the whitened sail outspread 
That flutters in the breeze o'erhead ; 
Hope tells those wings expanding wide 
Will bear us o'er the foaming tide. 
In safety to the distant shore, 
Those white wings safe will bring us o'er, 

234 



LINUS TOWNSEND, 235 

Or when upon the desert plain, 
The thirsty traveller seeks for rain ; 
When miraged forms deceptive yield 
And leave him on its burning field, 
Hope leads him to some gushing fount, 
Whose sparkling water slakes his want ; 
Some Oasis on the desert wide 
The fleeting mirage had defier^ 

A delusive charm, ('twas not a lake,) 
At which his burning thirst might slake; 
It is that hope forever blest 
That finds a place in every breast; 
Hope guides us o'er Zaharah's plain, 
Our drooping he^irts it does sustain, 
Buoyant o'er lifes sandy waste 
Unto the realm of the blest. 

XfOve may abdicate her throne. 

And leave her path with flowers strewn. 

Desert her happy holy reign, 

Her subject's too in grief and pain ; 

Revenge here too, that passion dire. 

May lose for aye its vengeful ire, 

And leave the channels of its wrath, 

To tread in love's congenial path. 

But hope for aye our bosom fills. 

And with its sweetest magic thrills. 

And through life's dire, sable maze 

The trembling spirit safe conveys, 

Unto its future destiny, 

When from the thralls of time its free; 

Hope is a part of heavenly birth 

That guides us through the scenes on earth; 



Now, light-winged, the Summer breeze 

Drifts o'er the new mown fields, 
But lighter still the zephyr sweet 

Across the meadow steals. 
The cricket chh^ps its languid notes 

Among the tangled hay, 
And the katy-did amidst the boughs 

Easps the dark night away. 

The '' reaper's " ceased its noisy din, 

Stands silent in the shed, 
Whilst tools of an inferior style 

Lie passive over head ; 
Its potent wheels are standing still, 

Its busy day is done. 
And for its maker's magic skill 

A glorious triumph's won. 

The barn's now filled up with the spoil, 

Seems groaning far and near 
With the products of the yoman's toil, 

The bounties of the year. 
Genius, with a potent hand, 

Man's every want supplies, 
And to ease each separate toil, 

It finds a new device. 

March on thou mighty genius, ., , 

Thou art ruler of the age. 
Thy name's extolled by every tongue. 

Emblazons every page ; 
Thy potent power has furnished steam 

To stem the stormy sea. 
Has wiped the dew from off our broW;. 

From toil has set us free. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 237 

O'er all this civil, broad expanse, 

Thou art motor of each wheel, 
Either by bound of wall confined. 

Or in the open field. 
All sexes and ages now enjoy 

The bounties of thy will, 
And to meet our wants as they arise, 

Art's ever ready still. 

Harvest time has come and gone, 

That brisk time of the year, 
Fond memories of the far by gone, 

Sweetly around us linger near. 
A grateful sense of tender woes 

Induced by this inspiring scene, 
Awakes fond memories' dull repose 

And renders bright lost links again. 

Those glorious scenes forever gone, 

Shut out by long succeeding years, 
^enew again a busy throng — 

Dim vision of the past appears ; 
Those busy scenes we now explore. 

Gone, never, never to return, 
But through the haze of by-gone days 

We tread those fertile fields once more. 

There we beneath some quiet shade 

Recline in visions' sweet repose. 
And hear that old familiar din 

That from the shady distance 'rose. 
We're now awake — the vision's fled, 

The cherished phantom's passed away, 
On seria tinted pinions sprd 

And vanished with the drifting spray. 



^^Omega.-^- 



The weary journey of this life, 

We are bringing to a close, 
And with it too, with fond relief, 

The burden of our woes ; 
No episodes can we recall 

With rapture to our mind. 
But many a passage bleared wdth care 

Yf e've left far, far behind. 

We have crossed no arid plains 

Where thick the manna fell, ■ 

Nor through those groves of Paradise 

Where Eden bloomed so well ; 
ISTor o'er those blissful sunny meads 

Where milk and honey flowed, 
But found one way mysterious, ] 

Without those gifts bestowed. 

Unerring instinct led us on. 

With reason for our guide. 
We stemmed the surging waves of life^ 

Or drifted on its tide ; 
No soothing zephyrs wafting near, 

To calm the raging wind, 
But the foaming crested wave 

Filled up the wake behind. 

The storm has ceased and I'm at rest, ; 

Wrecked on a foreign strand. 
No more to breathe the fragrant air 

Of my own native land ; ; 

I'll cherish no more delusive hope — '] 

That phantom now has fled, ' 1 

The charms of life have vanished^ 

Or mouldered with the dead. 



I 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 239 

I think out in the distance, 

Although far, far away, 
I see i)his earth's long, gloomy night 

Dissolve in endless day ; 
And behold the glorious scenes 

For ever, ever fade, 
Where once the sun had brightest shone, 

The deepest gloom pervades. 

I thought 1 saw an angel hand 

Swing ope' the entrance wide, 
And like a gentle purling stream, 

Flow in the living tide ; 
As the gate swayed back and forth 

And on its hinges swung, 
I heard the echoes of sweet notes 

In glorious rapture sung. 

Down the dark avenues of time 

I still can see them come. 
And hear the sad wail of discord 

Commingling with the hum ; 
Countless numbers caravanned. 

Who swell the drifting tide ; 
Hope, futile hope still bear them on 

With joy and woe allied. 

Still the host came svirging on. 

Urged by each swelling sea. 
Sad exiles on that fearful coast 

Where fate had drifted me ; 
Here's no respite — depressive thought, 

To bear upon the mind, 
Save the sad, sad memories 

That we have left behind. 



•^^^Oii-t-V/oriiiSrj^- 



Friends and citizens, I am here, 

And free from all disguise, 
And propose ere I leave your town 

To fill you with surprise. 
I have travelled North and sojourned South, 

And wandered East and West, 
And perform the good Samaritan 

B}^ relieving the distressed. 

Worms are the curse, the bane of life, 

Since time was known to man. 
And to dispel the cruel things 

I do possess the plan. 
I ask that you do bear with me, 

And do not^think me wild. 
As I can evict this worthless worm 

From woman, man and child. 

I can dispel the tape-worm 

And all the loathsome breed, 
The mucus too, that line the intestine 

In which they place their seed. 
My remedy is a vegatine — 

Though working like a charm, 
It leaves the patient resting free 

Freed from the wreathing swarm. 

Talk and rhymes wont kill your worms, 

But let me onl}^ try 
The specifics possessed by me — 

''The German Remedy." 
Numbers have tried this medicine. 

And all are satisfied ; 
As a vermifuge this Remedy 

Has a fame that's growing wide. 



i 

j 



LINUS TOWNSEND. ' 241 

They affect your babes and little ones, 

And cause them quick to die ; 
Then winged like little angels 

Away to heaven they fly ; 
when there upon those flowery plains 

They hover with the blest, 
JFreed from those cruel reptiles 

They find eternal rest. 

Children do not alone complain 

Of this infernal trash, 
Adults do often find them too 

Stirring up their hash. 
Oh ! our minds will turn with pleasure, 

And our hearts will fill with joy, 
To know those loathsome reptiles 

We can surely now destroy. 

Worms, insidious reptiles. 

Bring about disease and pain. 
And in the minute corbuscle 

They insinuate their bane. 
Although they are beneath contempt 

In hordes do aggregate. 
And lead us on in triumph, 

To meet a dire fate. 




-4-s^Editii-t-£.-i-Cowaii.-^- 



Again we feel death's chilly hand 

Press cold upon our brow, 
Again its dread, drear clammy weighty 

We feel its pressure now ; 
Again death's sable, cheerless pall 

Is stretched up in our view; 
Again mute silence finds its way 

Within our cottage too. 

The angel death with stealthy mien ' 

Has borne away the prize, 
And now beneath that silent pall 

The broken casket lies. 
Oh ; well place this broken relic 

Down deep beneath the clay. 
Where the grave worm cannot reach it 

Whilst mouldering in decay. 

But the part that God's own messenger 

Bore upward in his flight, 
We'll cherish with fond memories 

Through life's dark, gloomy night. 
We will watch the crested eagle 

Mount to the summit high. 
Where God has reared his mansion, 

And spirits never die ; 

Where tlie spirits of affinity 

Will know each other again, 
And roam fi-ec with the angels 

God's wide extended plain; 
Pluck sweet flowers unfading 

With friends so near and dear, 
There, in God's eternal presence, 

Tlirougli the never ending year. 

•242 



-4i^^ile•^P]JiIIlel/■aI•t•po^es1:'.'^- 

When those rock-bound hills and mountaii 

Were a deep solitude, 
O'er which a primeval forest wide 

In unbroken grandeur stood, 
With no intelligent mortah there 

To contemplate the scene 
But the hand that planted Eden, 

To paint the landscape green. 

Here God's mysterious power omniscient,. 

Is in deep impressions made 
On the mountains' dizzy, frowning heights, 

And on the wild and lonely glade 
The yawning precipice and chasm dread 

Add grandeur to the scene, 
And the sparkling brooks o'er cascades 

Are hurried through between. 

Before the white man.'s busy footsteps 

Along these streams were known, 
With entangling vines and underAvood 

Its base was overgrown, 
With mossy rocks were strewn around 

In wild profusion lay, 
And the laurel with unfading green 

Completely closed the wT.y. 

God trained those gushing streamlets, 

Along the rugged hill : 
Showing new displays of wonder — 

Of his infinite skill. 
Flow on, flow on, thou life-like stream^ 

Broke by the rocky side. 
Reflecting bright the mountain scene 

Upon the glassy tide. 

243 



244 ORIGINAL F0EM8. 

Clothing the lofty mountam heights 
With the hemlock green, 

Unfolding unfading beauties rare 
To this romantic scene ; 

Moistening with the salient spray 



That floated on the breeze 



Eenewing again — height'ning the bloom 
That marked the forest trees. 

Here the surly bea^r and c£ltamount 

Performed their stealthy tread, 
Yv'hilst the dull hooting of the night-owl 

AVas sounding overhead; 
The lazy bat would skim around 

Upon its gauzy wings, 
And the cricket in its hidden boY/er 
Quite lonely, anthems sings. 

Here the loathsome, deadly reptile, 

P^nclosed its slimy folds 
Within its layer of tangled sedge, 

A daily vigil holds — 
There, watching with a peering eye, 

From out its chosen place, 
For some unconscious victim 

To enfold in his embrace. 

The mighty oak stretched forth his arms 

To grasp with space alone, 
A monarch of an empire vast — 

Then to man unknown ; 
A sea of unbroken forest, dense, 

Then clothed the sublime scene, 
And the emerald tints of Summer 

Faded on those waves of green. 



i 



LINV1ST0WN8END. 245 

\ ..I 

And here tlie little gay gazelle 

With its bright and peerless eye, — 

Plucked the dainty flowers early, 

And scaled the mountains high, 
Or sought out the secluded shade 

Of some deep sheltering grove, 
To while with her chosen mate away 

The balmy hours' rove. 

Here, in the lonely midnight hour, 

The moon poured forth her light. 
Whilst the fierce conflict of the catamount 

Broke the stillness of the night, 
Or perhaps the lone vv^hipporwill 

Put forth a piercing cry — 
Startled by the moon's pale beams 

That gently lingered nigh. 

The unfailing sun still rose and set 

Upon this gloomy shade, 
No eye to see the tints of Spring 

Or the autumnal flowers fade ; 
Here the sere and yellov^ leaf 

Would sparkle in the lea, 
And the little neighboring rill 

Would still go rippling free. 

Often the dark ominous clouds 

Would sail o'er the upper deep, 
And with its wide extended sail 

The broad expanse would sweep j 
Lightning would flash and thunder .oar 

Out in the ambient air, 
No human voice commingling — 

But God alone was there. 



'24.(5 ORIGINAL POEMS, 

No human qjq to contemplate 

This vast and sublime scene ; 
An ocean wave : stern, petrified — 

A sea of living green. 
The fleecy clouds would calmly float 

Beneath the summer sky, 
Dressed in gaudy colours bright, 

Unseen by human eye. 

Here once gloomy silence frowned, 

Its horror did pervade, 
Naught but the rolling tempest 

To break upon the shade. 
Cold, unfeeling winter then. 

Would with icy fetters bind, 
And the nude and lifeless forest 

Rustled in the wind. 

Oh how glorious would the setting sun 
Shed forth its golden ray, 

And oh how sad would the shadovvs close- 
How chill the twilight gray, 

The shadows of impending gloom 
Would cast a weary shade, 

As the last ray of declining day 
Upon this scene would fade. 

The relentless panther then would go 

All trembling to his lair. 
And the gay gazelle upon the hill 

Would shrink away in fear ; 
Then the spirit of Jehova w^ould 

The hallowed scene pervade. 
And the footsteps of omnis(;ience 

Would rustle in the shade. 



LINUS TOWNSEND, 247 

Unfolding Spring would calm return, 

Renewing with its charms, 
To find grim solitude on the throne : 

Surrounded with alarms ; 
Kind nature then with tender hand 

Would raise the snowy pall, 
And remove the galling icy chains 

Cold winter's silent thrall. 

The little birds would pipe their song, 

Around this vernal throne ; 
No one to hear their thrilling notes 

But God, and He alone ; 
And here the soothing zephyrs sweet 

"Would breathe a tender sigh, 
And with their airy pinions light 

Would fan the azure sky. 

Here the lone flowers bloomed unseen, 

To waste their fragrance on the air. 
No one to train their tender vines. 

But God alone was there. 
Why didst God, so long withhold 

This predestined home from man, 
And from those grand primordial depths 

Announce the glorious plan ? 

Was it that on those lofty hills, 

He there might raise a throne. 
And have from that strong eminence 

His glorious name made known ; 
To plant upon these pristine hills 

A banner that would wave, 
And secure those triumphant honors 

That last beyond the grave. 



•^Ji'l'lie-t-gubliine-t-arid-t-l^idiculousrj 

The sublime and ridiculous 
Are here so sadly mixed, 
That you may find it difficult 
To draw a line betwixt. 

It was June and a soft summer breeze 

Went gently floating by, 
And to find a place to rest, 

Each one in vain would try ; 
When the odor of the fragrant field 

Light drifted in the air, 
And the downy rose, profusely sweet, 

Seemed blooming everywhere. 

When the busy bee on buzzing wings 

Sipped sweet the budding flowers, 
And hidden songsters in the grove 

Made gay the leafy bowers. 
All nature seeming bathed in bliss, 

In gay and happy greeting, 
Instinct with mutual sympathies 

The pulse of life was beating. 

June awakes each hallowed morn, 

Crowned in summer splendor, 
Bathing with dew the fertile corn 

That then grew up so tender ; 
The salient zephyrs sighing through, 

Cause the blades to rustle. 
The ear enclosed in emerald folds, 

Unseen's the downy tassel. 

24S 



LINUS TOWNSEND. \ 249 

A harmless youth leaned on his hoe — 

His thoughts away did wander, 
The old gray goose slow trudged along 

Close followed by a gander; 
A gay blackbird sat on a stake, 

His peerless eyes did glisten, 
Now he would give an anxious chirp, 

And then he'd stop and listen. 

What glowing charms calm June awakes 

Within our bosoms tender, 
How glad — compared with the sad frowns 

That winter months do render. 
Awakes in us a new surprise — 

Those dire extremes of weather. 
How heat and cold, and wet and dry, 

Can thus be mixed together. 

Cold Winter's bleak and chilling winds 

Berates and sore oppresses, 
Whilst congenial Summer's zephyrs sweet 

Soothe with soft caresses ; 
Winter's cold insensate charms 

Are locked in icy fetters. 
And with his chill, relentless chain 

Are bound the sparkling waters. 

Spring, sweet Spring's congenial touch 

Awakes the torpid fovmtain. 
And the little rill once more set free 

Comes leaping down the mountain, 
Lingers a while enwreathed in spray 

To bathe the budding flowers. 
Commingles its soft liquid notes 

With those amidst the bowers. 



1250 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The spotted trout in sportive glee 

Now kiss its dimples early, 
And to revel through its ripples clear^ 

Is what they love so dearly. 
The salient spray that floats along 

Like tinted waves are hovering, 
Was by cold Winter's hand congealed 

And formed the brooklet's covering. 

But the genial wand of Spring again 

The crj^stal mass converted, 
Like spirits from a fairy land 

In misty waifs departed, 
To seek the daisies in the vale 

That fairy hands had planted, 
To moisten with their balmy dews 

The flowery dell enchanted. 

Sallie and I once sought our way 

Into this secret bower, 
Wiiere we assumed a mossy seat 

To spend a social hour. 
All nature there appeared at rest, 

As not a leaf was stirring 
The glorious scenes of Paradise 

Unto our minds recurring. 

A butterfly came sailing by, 

On gorgeous pinions soaring, 
Whilst Sally in my listening ear 

The softest words was pouring ; 
A» said before' stillness prevailed, 

And not a leaf was stirring, 
Pilence reigned — save a chickaree 

That on a limb kept purring. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 251 

-A pheasant on a log near by, 

Filled our minds with wonder, 
As with its wings nnseen by us 

It made a noise like thunder ; 
The harmless bird resounding stiil — 

Domestic thunder making, 
There, ^rmly locked in my embrace, 

I kept poor Sally from shaking. 

A sense ecstatic filled our minds. 

Enrapturing scenes surrounding, 
The gay elf on the hollow log 

Still kept his music sounding, 
Breaking the deep and sweet repose 

That reigned throughout the valley, 
Whilst I still in my embrace 

Held close the frightened Sally. 

Man and all things inanimate. 

As well must have an ending, 
As on the pleasure of our fate 

Our blissful hour's depending : 
The golden gates of Paradise 

Were closed against poor Adam, 
When locked within his Eve's embrace 

Was when the reptile had him. 

Like Adam in the groves of Paradise, 

Our blissful moments ended. 
But reclining on our downy couch 

Eemained the hours intended ; 
Our paradisean gates in silence swung— 

As noiseless we departed ; 
The pheasant, too, on buoyant wing 

Across the valley started. 



>52 ORIGINAL POEMS 

The gloaming dressed in sombre gray, 

Came peeping o'er the mountain, 
AVhilst Sally and I with languid strides 

Light skipped the purling fountain. 
\^Q wended slow our homeward way 

Through grass and tangled brushes. 
List'ning to the frogs in concert sing 

Unseen among the rushes. 

The gloomy shade of sable night 

Had closed his folds around us, 
When safe within our quiet home, 

The weary Goddess found us. 
Gi-entle reader, here we pause — 

Our erratic poem is ended, 
To mix the sublime and ridiculous 

Is what we first intended. 




"-^i^TDisgust.-^- 



We are here alone filled with disgust, 

That man should fear with man to trust, 

And feel it too — a dire disgrace 

Those sacred walls thus to deface : 

To carve and scrawl with low device 

Those walls prepared by art so nice ; 

The man is low who with chalk or knife 

Engages in this vandal strife, 

To think his name made widely known 

Where blatant fools have reared a throne ; 

He has little brain, yet less a heart, 

That in such work would take a part: 

To scrawl his name up with the rest, 

A chosen place which suits him best; 

He writes or carves his name — a cranky whim, 

Then fools and idiots follow him. 

'Tis said that birds of similar feather. 

Like fools or knaves, all flock together. 

We eay : wise men put up your tools 

And leave this work alone to fools, 

And save for aye that blush of shame 

That is ca.vt upon the scrawl er's name; 

•Just save your pen, your chalk and time, 

Its worse tlipji waste, its useless rhyme. 

We'll now leave with you our best advice — 

A poet UKiy err, but never lies. 



Oh ; how sad and drear the evening shades. 

Now thicken 'round our home, 
With naught to fill that aching void 

But sad and silent gloom ; 
With naught to cheer the wounded heart 

That throbs within my breast, 
To soothe my troubled mind to ease. 

Or give my spirit rest. 

Death ! Busy harvester, we little thought,, 

Whilst gathering in his sheaves. 
Would place that chosen one of ours 

So soon beneath the leaves ; 
We did not think the autumn wind 

That drifts along so cold. 
Would sigh so soon across her bed, 

Down deep beneath the mould ; 

JSTor thought ere now, the twinkling stars 

Would peer down from the sky. 
And there make light the sacred spot 

Where our own treasures lie — 
Around that spot where midnight dews 

Now shed their balmy tears, 
And linger 'round in calm profound 

Until daylight appears : — 
Until the glorious orb of day 

Would shed his argent light. 
And with his bright effulgent ray 

Dispel the shades of night ; 
Awakening the vital world 

From balmy sleep's repose. 
But binding on with fetters still 

The burden of ray woes. 

254 



Come all you good people, all whom I uphold, 
List' to a tragical story that has never been told ; 

It is of a young lady near to Porte Down, 

Who was clothed with great riches, fame and renown^ 

Many a rich gallant courting this lady came, 
And mauy a fine present received by the same; 

All hoping and striving her hand to obtain, 
But none of them all this fortune could gain. 

Well : it happened ere long on a fine summer day 
That a journeyman tailor came riding that way; 

He appeared brisk, young and airy as he rode by, 
And this lady called to him and bade him draw nigh. 

She said : "where art thou going, whence have you come 
What's your occupation and what is your name?'* 

" I am a tailor by profession " promptly said he, 
" And James is the name my good pastor gaye me." 

" Oh yes, I'm a roving young tailor by trade 

And the most of old Ireland I've already surveyed, 

Conneaut Town is the place of my abode. 

And I hope there is no harm in travelling this road. 

"Oh James I would have you in this country to tarry, 
And with some pretty girl I would have you to marry, 

In hope that your marriage would increase your store, 
And oh James I would have you to ramble no more." 

" I would not quit my rambling for increase of store, 
I would not quit my rambling for twice as much more; 

I have gold in each pocket, and silver likewise. " 

Then like an innocent damsel, tears fell from her eyes. 

255 



256 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

" Oh James I would have yon to marry with me, 

Thou wouldst have thy foot-men to wait upon thee, 
Thou wouldst have thy foot-men to run by thy side 
- And the day we are married I'll be your sweet bride.'* 

"Perhaps my fair lady your parents might say 

Their beautiful daughter had thrown herself away ; 

You are fit for some 'Squire of higher degree 

And some countryman's daughter more fit for me. " 

Her father and mother heard them plead their cause, 
They welcomed their son-in-law — gave him applause; 

Such another great weddins: scarcely ever was seen, 
As the journeyman tailor and his beautiful queen. 



''^- &) -^ 



My friend, although we've never met 

On this dull stage of life, 
Or together breathed its social air, 

Nor commingled in its strife; 
Still the same hand with tender care 

Controls our separate destinies, 
Though hills and dales may intervene, 

And rough and troubled sea's, 
"We hope when we have passed lifes w^ave 

We'll safely meet upon that shore 
Where the storm of time's forever ceased, 

Are felt and feared no more. 



-4i'l'ribute-t-1:0't-]\Ianiie-t-Jacl^soiir§^- 

This one more night at home, 

Our Mamie should remain ; 
The sun is low — its growing late, 

How cold will be her tomb. 
How lonely it will be for her 

To sleep among the dead ; 
And oh how cold and silent too, 

Will be her little bed. 

We know the angels will look down 

From their bright starry home, 
And with the dews of midnight 

Will gather 'round her tomb. 
We know they will watch o'er her, 

And guard her tenderly ; 
But still I would have Mamie stay 

This one more night with me. 

To-morrow when the school bell 

Kings out its morning toll, 
Poor Mamie will be sleeping 

Beneath the silent mould. 
But her spirit 'round Jehova's throne, 

Will assemble with the throng, 
And there with the holy angels 

It will offer up its song. 

We know they have clothed her tenderly; 

Her casket's snowy white, 
But we wOT^ld have our Mamie 

Remain another night ; 
To have her dear, dear spirit 

Hover 'round our home ; 
Oh then, oh then consign her 

All gently to the tomb. 

257 . . ' 



Jimiiiie-^arid^'Qpsicie^.-^:- 



Two more lambs of earth's dark night 

Have sought the fold above- 
Borne safely through the ether light 

On angel's wings of love ; 
There Jesus with his own right hand 

Swung back the gates of gold, 
To receive again those little strays 

Into his spacious fold. 

Kind Jesus turned the sacx-ed key 

To let these exiles in. 
These little lambs once more set free 

From satan and from sin ; 
He took those little pets again 

Into his fond embrace, 
_And there is room for thousands more 

Made by expanding grace. 

'^Countless numbered lambs like these, 

Play daily in his fold : 
; .Still space, still room for numbers more^ 

For myriads yet untold ; 
' There he has spacious fields made green 

"With dews of heavenly love. 
'God kindly takes his lambs from here 

Unto those fields above. 

Dry up your tears, those flocks are fed 

By (jrod's own bounteous hand. 
And angels guard through endless day, 

This lamb-like spirit band. 
Ceaseless streams go purling through 

Those fields that never fade, 
And there the matchless tree of grace 

Unfolds its ample shade. 

•25S 



-^OMt!ua][?y-t-of-t-^obe3?fe-]\ffoo]?e.#^- 



Disease has proved triumpliant, 

Has gained the gifted prize, 
And death has set the spirit free, 

To mount the azure skies ; 
Has set the suffering exile free 

From this dull vale of tears, 
To soar away on angel wing 

Beyond the boundless spheres ; 

To seek the home of Jesus, 

Has left this vale of sin, 
To find that place, where death and sin 

Can never enter in — 
Where disease has been excluded 

By God's own gracious hand. 
Unfeared, unfelt's this cruel foe 

Within this happy land. 

A tomb or grave here finds no place 

Upon this peaceful plain. 
Our loss on earth, disease and death. 

Is an immortal gain ; 
A title to a home we gain. 

Far, far beyond the tomb. 
Where God, the son, forever reigns 

Throughout that boundless dome. 

2o9 



"Now we ascend a lonely vale : 

Whose fragrant breezes we inhale, 
Where a pure, clear and rippling stream 

Keflects mountain shades of livix-g green. 
This livid stream bright onward fiov/s 

Through Summer's mists and Winter's snows^ 
Through flowery Spring — so far and clear 

It bathes with spray the emeralds near. 

There Autumn's languid golden shades 

Upon its rippling current fades — 
The fallen leaves its margin strews, 

Or glides beneath those dimpling hues. 
An enchanted fragrance fiills the vale, 

But stU foreboding thoughts prevail 
And fill our minds with nameless dread, 

As through this vale we lightly tread. 

There is a depth to man unknown — 

The muses claim it as their own ; 
They hold those nameless gleams divine. 

That through the changing seasons shine ; 
Those nameless glories that pervade 

Those deep, those wild secluded shades 
A speechless pathos — grand, profound. 

Fills full this vale — enchanted ground. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 261 

-An enchanted hand, with brush unseen, 

Paints well those gaudy bowers serene ; 
A. secret treasure, thought divine, 

Amidst those matchless bowers recline ; 
Our innate power of thought's controlled, 

When we this beauteous scene behold j 
Here a hidden, dark, mysterious tale 

Untold hangs o'er this lonely vale. 

FrcM^mtious and filled with anxious care 

iJnto this place we soon draw near ; 
Our soul now pants with secret dread, 

As onward still we lightly tread ; 
Our muse too pauses^stands aghast, 

Communing with the breathless past, 
And dreads each moment as they spring, 

And trembles lingering on the wing. 

To this spot appalled — ^this lonely shade, 

This ghastly place — drear haunted glade, 
The lone wayfarer in the gloom of night 

Comes near this spot with footsteps light, 
A secret dread, long pent up fears, 

Sad presage of declining years ; 
A petted tenant of this lurid kind 

Holds good a place in every mind. 
Here an ancient cot in ruin stands alone. 

Beneath a lind, branchy overgrown, 
XInder whose wide umbrageous shade, 

('Tis there this ghostly scene is laid,) 
High in this wide extending tree 

The Spring bird sings its matinee ; 
The Autumn winds here sigh and moan 

When the Spring bird away has flown. 



26:6 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Here the midnight soft and teary dews 

Fall gently on its emerald hues, 
Whilst closed around, its shades entomb 

This cot in night and dismal gloom ; 
Should the pale moon's soft silvery ray 

Th-rough this dark pall e're find its wajt 
The subtle ray would but disclose, 

Mute silence slumbering in repose. 

First when we this dismal cot beheld 

A woful pair within it dwelled ; 
The one was black, the other white — 

The man was black as sable night. 
His '' spouse" was white, report then said^ 

A dingy kind that would not fade ; 
We first beheld beneath this roof 

That kind of mixed, ungainly woof. 

'Twas there they found a happy home, 

Beneath this lind in silent gloom ; 
'Twas there she cheered his fireside. 

And claimed the right to be his bride. 
To be his spouse, to cheer her dusky mate,. 

And fill the stern decree of ruthless fate ; 
Fate why didst thou decree so stern 

O'er which the tearless angels mourn. 




It was in August — sultry montli, 

The day was bright and clear, 
When I with hundreds more like me 

Along our right of way did steer ; 
I sought, alike with those with me, 

For something strange and new, 
The tented field — a marshalled host 

Made up of '^ boys in blue." 

Up a rocky, steep and lonely glen 

With me they found their way, 
Where on the hill-top, far above. 

The center of attraction lay ; 
Something grand, among the brush 

In wild confusion met our view. 
Beneath the shade of spreading oaks 

That there in thick profusion grew*; 

Where unsightly boulders did protrude 

Above the arid soil. 
We found four thousand ''boys in blue " 

Unwreath the military coil. 
Badged of&cers with burnished swords^ 

On gay and nimble steeds. 
At break-neck pace with iron heels 

They crush the stunted weeds. 
Stentorian voices gave command — 

Which were at once obeyed. 
By the stalwart boys who wore the blue 

And through the briars wade ; 
With bayonets bristling on their guns 

And canteens by their sides. 
Do force their way through trailing vines 

With bold and rapid strides. 



ORIQINAL POEMS. 

Here numbers more, poor gapes like me, 

Suffering with heat intense, 
Lounged beneath some ample shade 

Or sat upon the fence ; 
Like chickens in a summer shower 

We watched with pure delight 
Those bold, gigantic ''boys in blue*'' 

Gyrate from left to right. 



--^J^^Dear Eula.#^* 



My bosom swells with fond delight 

As paternal love these lines indite, 

Ind Hope with enraptured wing outspread 

Seems gently soaring o'er my head; 

Seems to whisper in my ear 

That angels kindly hover near. 

Who'll guide and safely guard unseen 

You through this life's mysterious scene. 



Superstition with a sombre garb, 

" Like unto Samuels " our shoulders o'erspread, 
Leads us in midnight terror among 

The sad, silent mementoes of the dead ; 

Around that lone pall, the midnight grave 

The parian block in dimness white, 
The glowing moon high o'er the fleecy clouds 

Unfolds, the fleeting phantoms of the night. 

Oh : thou pale orb on floating pinions high 
Thy silvery rays here nightly vigils keep, 

Unfolds the teeming glories of the azure sky 
When we are wrapt in dreamy Slumber deep. 

Perhaps mysterious around our silent couch 

Some lone tenant of the starry sky. 
Sleeping still unconscious of the spirits approach 

Or the moon's pale beam that lingers nigh. 

We would not have those shadows fade 
Those midnight phantoms pass away, 

But linger still beneath its shade, 
Nor dread the coming of the day. 

Nor dread the mysteries of the grave 

That thrill us with a nameless fear, 
Or shudder at the cedar's wave. 

The sighing of lone zephyr near. 

Wouldst believe, when we do pass away 
Our spirits will 'round old ruins stray. 

Or when at midnight sleeping in the tomb 

They, then as terrors will wander in the gloom, 

26,1 



2u6 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Now we behold a dimpling rill 
That soft and gently finds its way, 

Down a bowery, daisied hill 

Bathed in drifting salient spray, 

Joins issue with a rippling stream 
That in the distance meanders free. 

There dawns mid the sunny beams 

And dances 'neath the leaning forest tree. 

Whose mirrored surface now reflects 
A nymph-like goddess calm serene, 

AVliose lily hand the brush directs 

That paints the beauteous landscape green,. 

Into that deep seductive grove, 

This goddess fair, now seeks her way 

Where strains attuned, with artless love 
Make sweet the charm of opening day. 

That rapturous strain that softly floats 
Upon the buoyant, breezy wing. 

Discloses with its sylvan notes 

The presence of sweet balmy spring. 

The little rill with laughing glee 

Commingling with that swelling tide 

No longer sports its dimples free 

But struggles with the streamlet wide. 

Upon its banks in glowing tints 
Blushing, blooms the fragile flower, 

That opens with the morning sun 
And wanes away, within an hour, 

Rejoices in the morning breeze 
Lut long before the close of day 

Those beauteous floral gems decline 
Droop, wither, die and pass away. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 267 

The sparkling rill no longer free 

Drifts with a bold superior tide 
The shady groves and grassy lea 

Increases with its margins wide. 

Depending clumps of trailing vines 

Hang o'er its troubled waters clear, 
Whilst sturdy oaks and emerald pines 

Make lone and dusky shadows here. 

Jutting headlands now set in 

That closes down the flows (confines 
Whilst abrupt hills, whose rocky sides 

Make frowning drear its dark outlines 

Appalling desolation spans it o'er 

With an arch, from side to side 
Whilst Maelstroms dread from shore to shore 

Break its onward seething tide. 

The eagle soaring in high mid air 

On buoyant airy pinions light 
Beholds this darkness of despair 

From out his lofty dizzy height ; 

He leaves awhile his vast domain. 

Swoops gently 'round the mountain crest 

And perches on some jutting cragg 
To let his weary pinions rest. 

Where excrescencies from far beneath. 

Might dewy damp his tired wing. 
And with a light, and gauzy wreath 

A halo, gently 'round him fling. 

He would seek to place his jErie 

Upon some less stern hostile clifi*. 
Whilst light beneath the azure sky 

Amid the clouds he calmly drifts. 



268 ORIGINAL POEMS, 

Here the bird, ne'er stops to sing, 
Its springtime sweet endearing lay, 

But on its light and airy wing, 
It quickly bears itself away ; 

Here the cyclone wastes its vengeful ire, 
Upon this rock-bound cheerless shore. 

And the Stormking on his mural throne. 
List's to the thunder's dismal roar. 

This mighty current still rolls on, 

Made up of streamlets, brooks and rills, 

Who have left behind, far, far behind, 
Their native vales and bowery hills, 

O'er Mselstroms dread and treacherous sands ; 

Increasing still its onward fiow^ 
Until within the eddying gulf. 

It finds a respite deep below. 

Freed from the turmoils of the past, 

There 'neath those cavern depths unknown, 

The rill, from off the mountain crest, 
That long since came rippling down ; 

A short respite it now awaits. 

The ebbings of a swelling sea, 
A passage through, those tideless gates, 

That bounds the ocean of eternity. 



-4i^T:'lie-t-Deiitist-^- 



"We tread along lifes dreary road, 

With dangers encompassed, 
Oft' o'er our heads, with gloomy clouds, 

The sky being overcast ; 
With woful pains, and aching frames, 

Or wasting with disease. 
The besetting curse of all our pangs, 

Comes from decaying teeth. 

Ague's may know with vengeful ire, 

And fever's intense, new horror's bring, 
lN"aught can produce, such rending woe, 

As the tooth's envenomned sting; 
When anguish dire slow seeks its way. 

And fills our teeth with agony, 
Kaught but the forcep's iron grasp, 

From pain can set us fr9e. 

For every joy we feel a woo 

And every smile a tear. 
For every grateful friend, a foe — 

A danger lurking near ; 
For every ill, of suffering man. 

Dame nature finds a cure. 
He accepts her aid without restraint, 

Or sufferings endure. 

Kind nature has found for every one, 

A full set of masticators free. 
But mine have bid with many a pang, 

A long farewell to me ; 
Since then we've truly met a friend, 

Who does possess the skill. 
To make for you, a full set new 

Or your old ones pull or fill. 

269 



270 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Y/itli skill and care, he'll file and plug, 

And make them look like new, 
With grit and sand — bring cash in hand, 

That's all you have to do ; 
Pray do not wait, until too late, 

And suffer all the while, 
But have your teeth, your face and pate, 

Assume a happy style. 

If our mutual friend, his aid extends, 

A reward he'll ask of thee, 
But if you've left your purse behind, 

"We think he'd do it free ; 
This wingless angel messenger, 

iSTot far from here does dwell. 
And his initials, they are W. C. 

If right we have learned to spell. 

All those who have teeth to pull or plug, 

Come on without delay, 
This man of teeth is here but brief. 

And short he makes his stay. 
He has his office up in town ; 

Just find out when he's there. 
He will make a full set new. 

Or your old teeth will repair. 

Angels visits with us are few. 

And always far between. 
But now and then a buoyant wing, 

Fan's this lovely scene ; 
Those downy messengers of peace, \ 

Thus briefly make their stay, 
For fear that from their pinions light, 

Wo would pluck the quills away, 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 271 

All those who suffer from toothache. 



Come give our friend a call, 
He will examine well your teeth, 

Let you be large or small, 
You there can fill both heart and teeth, 

Before you go away. 
With foil he'll fill your aching teeth, 

And your heart he'll fill with glee. 

He will make his bill to suit your purse, 

The teeth to suit you too. 
To invite you all most courteously, 

ISTow's what we mean to do ; 
He will give you all a free advice, 

And treat you as a friend, 
Which will be worth, in time to you, 

More than the cash you spend. 

Again we ask our friends to call. 

And hear what he's to say ; 
Ee will treat you all with courtesy. 

And do it without pay ; 
He will relieve you of your aches and pains, 

And many a heartfelt sigh, 
All we say too, is strictly true, 

As poets never lie. 



-4i^Tfiie-t-Post-^Boy.-5 



We pity the post boy with our whole heart, 

Jus+, as the day breaks he gets ready to start, '^ 

The first thing he does, when he hops out of bed, , 

Is to see that his horses are properly fed, 

Then he washes his face and combs out his locks, - 

And back to the stable he silently walks, 

He returns to the house, when he finds all in trim,^ 

"Where his mother and breakfast are waiting on him,, 

He sits down to eat at his mother's request, 
And she helps him to such as he relishes best, 
His coffee she pours out fresh from the pot, 
AVhich he in his hurry drinks much too hot, 
His mother in kindness expresses regret. 
That away in the morning, so soon he must got, 
He takes down his coat and its on in a trice, 
Brushed by his dear mother, that fits him so nice. 

Then fast to the stable, he hurries himself. 
Forgetting something he had placed in a shelf, 
Now his horse quickly bridled, already to go, 
And with spurs on his heels, he dont travel slow; 
The mail he throws on, and it lights with a thud, 
Then away at a canter, through frost, ice and mud, 
Straightway to Apollo without waiting he goes, 
without taking notice how cold the wind blows.. 

272 '• '"^^ 



LINUS TOWNSEND. \ 273 

Jerry lights out, througli cold, sleet and frost, 
Eegardless of what his shoes might have cost, 
He soon reaches town, without delay or mishap, 
And to keep his head warm, wears hat or cap, 
When safely in town, the boy feels at ease. 
And the dogs slink away, and leaye him in pea 
He alights from his horse, makes fast to a post, 
Secures his horse well, as he needs him the mo^t. 

Tlien the mail he with care, removes from his bii 

It's a thing with two ends, a kind of a sack, 

It is made out of leather, a hole in the side, 

A low place in the middle on which you can ride ; 

It is made fast to the stirrups with two leather &tr;i' . 

Just to keep it from losing, or other mishaps ; 

We will tell you just here, why its made out of leatlier. 

Just to keep the mail dry through all kinds of weather. 

Then into the office he goes lugging his load. 

Soon behind the clerk's counter it's safely bestowed ; 

IsTow for transit of mail, awhile he must rest. 

He retires to lounge where it suits him the best ; 

He buys a cigar, and he smokes it a while. 

His heart w^ell at ease, he thinks it the style ; 

As the smoke in wide circles does around him increase 

His horse at a post is taking his ease. 

He has not long to wait for transit of mail, 
As the news he's expecting, are coming by rail ; 
A snort from the engine 'tis not far away. 
You'd think with such fury old Nick was to pay ; 
The train's at the station, the mail boy's there too, 
A Nick at the throttle, just putting her through ; 
She stops but a moment, discharges her load. 
Then with lightning speed she wheels up the road. 



274 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

We then bade adieu to the wild rushing train, 
As we knew ere long we would see it again. 
The boy with the mail has now passed away 
And through the old bridge is tripping so gay ; 
He soon came to the office where numbers await 
To hear what their friend has now to relate. 
Oh, if we knew, the contents of that sack, 
And safely away, we would never want back. 

Hope, joys and sorrows, and heartrending pain, 
Are the news of the morning, that came by the train : 
The contents of the sack are now on the floor, 
And two busy hands are conning it o'er. 
All is retained in Apollo that belonged to that place, 
A large amount of mail, as is always the case ; 
Now, that the conning is gone through complete. 
The news still on transfer, are yet at his feet. 

But soon in the pouch, they place it again, 

The news for the country that came by the train; 

A strap is drawn through some staples so nice. 

And the lock gives a click, and its closed up so nice,, 

Harvey's up and a doing, his rest is now o'er, 

He seizes the sack as it lies on the floor 

With a jerk and a swing, it lights on the saddle 

And then the next moment he's sittino- astradle. 



LINUS TO WNSEND. 275 



Now Jerry lights out frantically — ■ 

He knows what's coming next, 

As he has been trained invariably 

To travel by the text. 

He moves with ease, and swiftly too, 

Along the well beat road ; 

And the mail horse — faithful Jerry, 

Never feels the load. 

A few brief minutes move with him. 

And he is at the springs ; 

The reason why a horse cant fly, 

Is because he lacks the wings. 

Unconsciously the mail boy now 

Slacks the tightened rein, 

And with ease from off* his horse 

Kemoves the pouch again. 

A bright and secret key its way 
Finds into the iron lock, 
And out upon the show case 
Is spread the people's stock 
And soon with busy wary hand 
The stamps are shuffled o'er, 
Whilst many a one intensely waits 
Around the office door ; 

And many sorely disappointed, 

Sadly turn away, 

And shed their tears in silence 

For news upon that day. 

His dinner o'er, the post boy 

Mounts his secret sack, 

And pursues once more, with anxiouiS tread. 

Around the ceaseless track; 



lib ORIGINAL POEMS. 

And when he comes to Maysville, 

He pauses briefly there, 

And from his pouch of joy and hope 

They daily get a share; 

When those in charge are through with him, 

He briefly makes his stay 

And o'er the steep and dreary hills, 

He quickly speeds away, 

Then he arrives at Eldersridge, 

In prompt and goodly time. 

And tarries there quite long enough 

For us to make a rhyme ; 

A group of students there are found, 

live threshold loitering 'round, 

Awaiting Uncle Samuel's "protege," 

To tread on classic ground. 

Waiting for a missive couched, 

In a kind lather's hand, 

Or for a sister's autograph 

They anxiously do stand ; 

Or a message from a mother, 

Blotted with a tear. 

Par from home, these stripling youths, 

Are softly lingering near. 

Through the groves of Elders Kidg© 
The post boy trains his steed, 
And enters the solitude of Olivet 
With much increasing speed. 
The daily maues of by gone days 
Seem flitting through its shade, 
And the bright ray of open day 
Soon by the moon's pale beam will fade. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 277 



Pale sprites there flit daily 'round * 

Its portals do await, 

For amulets through Uncle Sam, 

To solve the seals of fate. 

The post boy never dallies here — 

Too stifling is the air, 

But speeds away on busy hoofs 

And seeks for better fare. 

He onward now — a pathway straight 

Hurries to the bend, 

There many smiling faces wa^i 

And greet him as a friend ; 

They receive him kind and courteously, 

The mail is carried in. 

And to analyze the medley, 

Two hands the work begin. 

There bright beneath that busy floor, 
There flows a purling stream. 
And in front, upon the dusty road, 
Now droop's the rustic team. 
In view a group of cottages 
Fills up the spacious lawn. 
Interspersed with beauteous ever greens 
That cheers the early dawn. 

And close within the boundary near. 

We hear a busy wheel. 

With its wild artistic whirl 

Produce the luscious meal ; 

In sight's a lofty precipice 

Wild clad with ever green. 

Gur muse it loathes to part with thee. 

Thou fair fiic]]anted ?(^'v.^. 



278 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

He's onward now with weary strides, 

The sun is sinking fast, 

And with dark portending gloomy cloiida 

The sky is overcast ; 

A ceaseless streamlet oa his left 

Is flowing at his feet. 

Two places more have claims on him 

And then the day's complete. 

At the girty office, Clayton, 
He meets there every day; 
They ha.ve no claim on Uncle Sam 
They give him extra pay. 
Tender greetings heae from him 
His missives do impart, 
Unfolding anew thosti silken ties 
That twine around the heart. 

1^0 w clattering o'er an iron span, 

(Beneath's a placid stream) 

Day by day he passes here, 

With nought to cheer his dream 

Low behind the distant hills 

The sun sinks in the West, 

With nought to light him on the w^ay 

But evenings twilight crest. 

Murky clouds thick gather 'round, 

Induce a tightening rein. 

With reeking spurs and panting sides. 

He soon is at the plains. 

Gloomy phantoms gather 'round 

This sad and dreary place. 

With no one here in gloaming shades 

With smiles upon their face. 



I 



LINUS TO WNSEND. 279 



Here peering ghosts of time long past, 

The corner's peeping 'round, 

He trembling grasps the proffered mail, 

And leaves the haunted ground. 

NoAV he is on the homeward stretch — 

The busy day is o'er, 

And thick around the gloomy night 

The sable curtains lower. 

iSTot long beneath the twinkling stars 

Until Lo zain's ruin s are past. 

And unto the granite walls of Chambers, 

Poor Jerry's nearing fast ; 

Where he beholds the artistic Ben 

The gas is burning bright, 

A conning o'er the mysterious drafts 

Of some new paten — right. 

The post boys heart, feels light and cheeredj 
When he the mountain top regains, 
And feels a secret glow within, 
That he has passed the plains, 
He passes light its summit height. 
O'er haunted grounds descends 
And when once safely at its base, 
He nears his journey's end. 

A gentle slope he's yet to pass, 
.A beauteous level plain. 
Where the virtue of the spur's applied 
And he's soon home again. 
The mail pouch too has found its place, 
The post boy feels at home, 
The hostler rubbs poor Jerry down 
-A lid v:e close out our poem. 



•^^^I'llC't-Criicifi :doiiri^- 



T'was on a night of dark dismay, 

Thick grew the sable pall 
And dread o'erspread the trembling host,. 

Within Jerusalem's fated wall. 
With awful heat the sage and sea 

Replete in fierce array, 
Dark dismal gloom sad filled the night 

With awe succeeding day. ' 

When earth and hell joined to reveal 

That messenger from on high, 
Doomed the tomb and piteously 

To suffer and to die. 
Ungrateful Judas with a kiss, 

Betrays Him to his enemy 
Who with ruthless hands in dire disgrace^ 

Fierce drag Him to the tree. 

A prisoner before a Roman bar 

They force our saviour dear, 
Where clamerous waits a rabble throng 

Away His life to swear ; 
And there with lamb-like plenitude 

His innocence defies, 
And there a friend aghast with fear 

h sacred truth denies. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 281 

Draped in robes of innocence — 

All fi^ee from guilt he stands, 
Whils't Barrabas imbued with, guilt 

Lay down in prison chains. 
" Set free the blameless Jesus, 

Take Barrabas ! " Pilate cries, 
The court finds no fault in Jesus, 

J^o guilt within Him lies. 

'Eo guilt stains could there be found 

Upon the prince of peace, 
The Eoman judge now washed his hands 

And favored his release. 
The time had come long since foretold 

That strange eventful day. 
When but a pure celestial stream 

Could wash our sins away. 

Why was the lamb of God thus slain, 

Oh, why this stern decree, 
Was it to wash away the stain 

That sin had left on me ? 
The mob in waves of fury surged, 

No human hand could stay. 
It was the sacred lamb of God 

That satan sought as prey. 

Now loud and long the rabble throng 

Kept up the hue and cry, 
Until at last — the die is cast 

They shout loud '' crucify !" 
Forth from the front of Pilates throne 

He is hurried to the tree 
To seal for man with precious blood 

The ransomed sinner free. 



282 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

A cr>:ifel crown of platted thorns 

"They place upon his head. 
And scoffingly they put on him 

A gown of scarlet red. 
Place in that sacred hand — a reed 

A sceptre mockingly, 
Oh : then before the prince of peace. 

They bend the scoffers knee. 

InTow tottering beneath His crcEB, 

Our holy Saviour's led away, 
Impending clouds obscure the sun, • 

Sore weeping for that bitter day. 
The fainting Christ sinks 'neath the load, 

Wild shouts the "kicked throrg, 
A Syrian's forced to bear the cross 

That chance had brought along. 

Great God with heartfelt anguish, 

Our souls weep o'er the scene, 
No pitying hand to wipe his brow 

No arm on which to lean. 
"With cruel goads in wicked hands 

With oaths and taunting jeers, 
The thorny crown still wounds his head, 

With blood and bitter tears. 

Oh still the wicked w^ave rolled on, 

In chains, the King of kings, 
'Z.Iid air surrounded by angel hosts 

Celestial choirs sing. 
- ije echoe's of that glorious band 

; )wept o'er that serial plain, 
xVnd before God's eternal throne 

JJlod out the melting strain,; 



i 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 283 

Too sooD, alas the wicked host 

To calvary drew near, 
When with art upon a chosen spot 

This rough hewn cross the}^ rear. 
The savior is the sacrifice, 

The spikes are lying near, 
A Roman soldier of the gnard 

Calmly holds a reeking spear. 

With fearless hands and cruel spikes 

They pierce his hands and feet. 
And ^vliilst in death's dire agony 

In, ..'Is and jeers repeat : 
"Come down from off that fatal tree 

Thy precious life to save ; 
^Twas thee who made the blind to see 

Awoke those in the grave." 

Soon hateful jeers and cruel shafts 

On a cold brow were spent, 
The sun refused its effulgent glow 

The temple's veil was rent, 
" 'Tis finished ! " cries the son of God 

And then gave up the ghost. 
And darkness veiled the sinking sun; 

Awe filled the trembling host. 

In dire gloom, and filled with awe. 

The reckless mob now fled 
Seraphic hosts were hovering near, 

Angels wept o'er the dead — 
The mighty saviour of mankind 

Still hanging on the tree — 
A suffering, bleeding sacjrifice, 

For such vile worms as we. 



284 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Joseph pleads, but not in vain 

To bear the corpse away, 
Then soon, full soon, in his own tomb 

In death the sufferer lay. 
Ere long he will arise again, 

In triumph from the grave, 
To break the galling chains of sin — 

A sinking world to save. 

Seraphs in the ether light 

Behold the dead arise. 
Whilst angels on their buoyant wings 

Proclaimed it through the skies ; 
The mighty concourse in their woe, 

Wail o'er that awful day. 
Appalled with the work they done, 

Had willed his life away. 

But still ; at this far distant day, 

We nail him to the tree 
And wear the galling chains of sin 

Instead of going free. 
Now seated on his father's throne, 

He pleads, put pleads in vain ; 
We still sup with satan's hosts. 

And wear his glittering chain. 

Callous to every sense of shame, 

We slight Jehovah's son. 
He who suffered, bled and died 

And our full ransom won. 
Oh ; heartless, cruel tyrants we, 

To treat our saviour so. 
To turn away that hand in scorn 

That soothes our saddest woe. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 285 

A victor over death and ''hades," 

Jesus arises from the tomb ; 
The earth is racked with reeking throes, 

The sun's empaled with gloom ; 
The soldiers they in dread dismay 

In sinking horror fled, 
The angels roll the stone away — 

Comes walking forth the dead. 

The Prince of peace now meets again 

His faithless, timid friends, 
And heralds from the lord of hosts 

The joyful tidings sends ; 
A mother weeping at His feet 

Maternal claims renews, 
A wounded side, pierced hand and feet. 

The faithless Thomas vievfs. 

l^ow on earth, His mission's filled 

And sublime is His flight, 
He leaves these plains of sin and woe — 

This vale of gloom and night. 
On angel wings He mounts on high, 

Seraphic transports near, 
Wounded hands, feet, side and death — 

Away from every fear. 

Has sought for aye on heaven's plains 

A father's blest abode, 
"Where a glorious seat of regal right 

On him was there bestowed ; 
JN'ow there with hands yet deeply scarred, 

He wield's a sceptre o'er, 
And on His brow a diadam 

That once the thorns had vrore. 



286 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

He's broke the prison walls of death, 

And tore the bars away, 
And through the gloomy pall of night 

Admits the living day ; 
Has wrenched the cruel spike away 

That pierced the fatal tree, 
And with those hands so deep impressed 

Has set us captives free. 

Death now has lost its fatal sting, 

The grave its victory, 
The Prince of peace has triumphed 

O'er our cruel enemy ; 
A guilty world, with fear and love, 

Now pleads before His throne, 
Whilst satan still in vaunting pride 

Would claim it as his own. 

Wiley satan shrinks in cowering fear, 

And dreads the coming day, 
When the twinkling stars above us 

Will sink and fade away ; 
When the glorious sun will cease to shed 

Its argent rays of light. 
And chaos folds the fated waste 

A scroll of sable night. 

When our holy saviour clothed in might 

Again to man appears. 
To awake the mouldering sleeper dead 

And drive away their fears. 
Then satan and his guilty herd 

Will seek redress in flight 
Oh, the farther we retreat from God. 

Darker growes the night. 



I 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 



287 



Ten thousand pangs stern agonies, 

Will throng that awful day, 
Whilst the wicked yield beneath their load 

Pass on in dread array. 
To meet their God — Jehova's son, 

Amidst the clouds 'mid air 
To see the wicked throng disperse 

The ri2;hteous hearts draw neaf . 




^^^£-t-PvSlic-j-of401d.-i> 



A relic of long forgotten years, 

May seem a trifling thing 
But 'tis upon time honored themes 

My muse best loves to sing. 
This skillet now has been in use 

For many a long, long, year, 
The present of a departed friend 

Is why we hold it dear. 

'Tis not in its material worth 

That we a treasure find. 
But the sad memories of a dear old friend ^ 

Its presence calls to mind. 
Long eventful years had passed since then, 

Old time has not delayed. 
What made the impression sad and deep 

Was what aunt Mattie said. 

She said, ^'I have possessed it long, 

Since I was gay and young, 
When with a fond Cherub in my arms 

And ''hush my love," I sung ; 
That skillet simmered on the hearth 

My darling on my knee, 
The flowers then sweetly blushed and bloomed 

All nature smiled on me. 

288 



LINUS TOWNS END. 289 

My houseliold then one scene of bliss 

Was free from every care, 
That skillet then upon the hearth 

Held a dear prestige there ; 
My children then would group around 

From care and trouble free, 
But now all nature seems to frown 

And has no smiles for me. 

That skillet since so highly prized 

Has long been laid away, 
Br ^ ^.t still recalls those happy scenes 

When I was young and gay. 
When burning tears upon those cheeks 

Were then to me unknown, 
That happy day has passed away, 

On wings forever flown." 

A gloomy, thick and lurid cloud 

Seems gathering o'er the scene, 
Where once the sun had brightly shone 

And all was calm, serene. 
Corroding sorrow fills the heart 

That once was filled with glee 
By galling chains is now enthralled, 

That once was bounding free. 

^'Oh take this boon and keep it, 

And when I am from sorrow free ; 
Just look upon this cherished gift 

That you now get from me." 
We took the memento at her hand 

Impressed with what we heard her say, 
Then with a tear upon our cheek 

"^Ve sp.dly turned away. 



290 



ORIGINAL FOEMS, 



Poor ''aunt Mattie," she is gone, 

And many a heartfelt tear 
Has been shed upon her tomb, 

By those who loved her dear ; 
She is gone forever, ever, gone, 

Her troubled spirit's fled, 
'N'othing to mark the closing scene 

But the covering of the dead. 




•^J^^Poor-t-Jerpy's-t-]^eWard.-s^- 



The old war horse Jerry's dead, 

And when he came to die 
A famished group of canines sons 

Sat 'round impatiently ; 
There crouching on their haunches 

And trembling with fear, 
That death might grant a respite 

And crush their prospects near. 

The prospect of a dainty feast 

Induced them there to stay, 
But Hercules with bats and brick 

Soon drove the curs away ; 
Now that good old ''patriot" 

Is laid away to rest 
And his noble flesh and bone uncracked 

Have made the dogs a feast. 

When the din of war filled happy homes- 

With sadness and distress, 
And our noble ship of State, 

Was sad and sore appressed ; 
And dark portending battle clouds 

Filled the ambient air. 
And thousands of our bravest men 

Trode the path of war. 

291 



29- ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Poor Jerry then, full, fed and fleet. 

Roamed free the grassy lea, 
Unconscious of his destiny, 

Relentless fate's decree ; 
He was hurried through those dusky clouds 

That gather o'er the hostile field. 
To stem the storm of leaden hail, 

The flash of bristling steel, 

When cruel Mars with vengeful ire 

The woful charge prepares, 
The grassy fields were steeped in blood. 

Old Jerry he was t*here ; 
A.nd shells high in the upper air 

Awoke the sleeping night, 
The rockets with a limpid glare 

Described their meteor flight. 

Dressed in his hostile livery, 

All ready for the fray ; 
Thus clothed in those draping charms 

He would step both light and gay ; 
Then with his iron heels would tread 

The bloody battle field, 
Regardless of the wounded — dead, 

The cannon's terrific peal. 

And when our glorious stars and stripes 

Hung in drooping folds, • 
And o'er mountain high and valley deep 

Were heard the funeral tolls ; 
^nd when our noble patriot band 

Was menaced by the foe 
And all the streams of art and life 

Were hushed in silent woe • 



LINUS TO WNSEND. 293 

And all our happy social scenes 

Were filled with gloom and dread, 
And thousands of our bravest men 

Were numbering with the dead ; 
Many a cottage then in gloom 

Was sadly draped in woe, 
For Fathers, husbands, brothers dear^ 

Who were sleeping cold and low. 

In silence mourned o'er severed ties 

That cruel fate had torn, 
And mothers with the widow's tears 

In bitter streams were borne ; 
The timid orphan shrank away, 

And shed his tears alone. 
And breathed in childish solitude 

A name forever gone. 

Where was the noble Jerry then ? 

Out on the bloody plain, 
Breasting the battles lurid glare. 

The war cloud's iron rain ; 
Onward with herculean might. 

He bore amidst the fray. 
When sanguine ray's illumed the night 

And sulphery clouds obscured the day» 

Ah cruel and ungreatful man, 

Where was poor Jerry's pay, 
When off the smoky battle field 

The clouds had cleared away ? 
When the war cry had ceased 

And danger too had flown, 
Then Jerry he was sent away 

Where comforts were unknown. 



29i 



ORIGINAL POEMS. 



Jerry, that ever faithful friend, 

Now slumbers with the dead, 
And those classic days upon the field 

Are gone — forever fled ; 
Away in some dark lonely wood 

In a secluded spot. 
Stripped of his glossy hide and flesh, 

His bones are left to rot, 




i 



^^^paith.'t-jlope-t-aiid'^CIiarityr^* 

^hen far from the regions of endless day , 

On pinions of light, the graces had flown, 
And by them, from the garden of Eden away, 

Branches of love so tender were borne. 
Thus with pendants — those missions of light 

Away from the regions of glory had fled, 
Down to this vale of dark gloomy night. 

Those empyrean tributes of goodness were sped 

Faith, oh we adore thee, thou lovely queen ! 

Thy temple to man is unknown ; 
Thy Sceptre, too, to the eye is unseen. 

And thy bounties so rich we revive them alone^ 
Plow without thy sweet blessing could we 

In the sha-le of contentment recline, 
And repeat with a soul bounding free, 

The blessings of faith thou art mine. 

Hope with a heart, all radiant with love 

Moistened the germ she already had sown ; 
The plant she transfered from the gardens above, 

To this cold sterile vale before here unknown ; 
Its root soon struck deep, and sweet the perfume, 

And rich were the flowers in fragrance it bore, 
The soil was con2:enial, soon unfolded its bloom 

And wide was the held its seed scattered o'er 

295 



296 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Charity now still appeared on the strand 

In charge of her beautiful store ; 
She bestowed her rich gifts with an unsparing It '-nd. 

Unknown to this soul, stinted regions before, 
Her exotic from Eden she inserted with care, 

Its branches in bowers are now widely spread ; 
Youth in its beauty is gamboling there, 

And age in^its weakness repose in its shade. 

Faith art thou still a delusion — a dream, 

That sages so long claimed for thee, 
As along the dark shade of time's gloomy stream 

Or on the strand of its aerial sea, 
iNot feint to be seen, its light spreading wing 

As it scales the mysterious breeze 
But still its kind messages endearingly brings 

Athwart that dark waving Ethereal sea 

High o'er the ramparts of heaven unfurled 

Thy gold streaming bvanners still wave, 
But furled are thy folds in this cold frowri'iT;^ world 

As dark as the pall that shadows the grave ; 
Awake with its soul cheering emblems of li^-ht, 

A hope in the wayfarer and make his way clear 
Breaks through the shade of thickening night, 

Like the dream of a Pleiades sphere. 

How fragrant's the flowers that faith has adorned 

The path that leads from the crib to the grave; 
But darkened with thorns when by sceptic suborned 

And despairing the shadows that o'er it wave. 
Faith severs the chain, 'tis her empyrean mission 

Doubts cruel thrall sets the soul bounding free, 
And breaks through bars — of its dark gloomy prison 

And points to the star of its bright destiny. 



LINUS TO WNSEND. 297 

Faitli was endowed with her celestial mission, 

Far far away in the gardens above, 
AVbere hosts of bright angels in countless legions 

Are awaiting as transport the Mandate of love. 
There hope with its pinions wide spreading, 

Departs with its message for over the lea, 
And floats on the buoyant azurine zephyr 

That soft undulates the Ethereal Sea,. 

"Faith is the substance of things hoped for 

The evidence of things yet unseen," 
Sut dark as the forest, in all its wild grandeur 

With an undergrowth thick unyielding between, 
And then the birds with sweet songs so enchanting 

Fill the wild woods a mysterious choir, 
And in notes of sweet number. Divinely descanting 

Renews our faith with its soul thrilling lyre. 

But still far away to a myth-like realm. 

Faith points out a way to us yet unseen. 
Makes gay this mystic path with rapturous sweets. 

And paints its trackless course — a landscape green 
Kind faith in full charge of a glorious mission, 

Has not deposed her appointment in vain 
Kor hopelessly returned to the bowers of Eden 

And folded her pinion again. 

But still on her winged and trackless flight, 

She scans the vast and boundless plain 
Dispelling the dark shade of gloomy night 

That hangs as a pall o'er life's domain. 
Scattering wide in her eddying flight the floral gem 

That now with delight, fill each wandering eye ; 
With fragrance perfuming — en wreathing the stem 

That solace that she transfered from on high. 



298 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Those portals made free — all now may enter 

This beauteous plain — to thousands unknown, 
Where the paridisian flower fragrant still's blooming, 

Whose seed by f he graces so kindly were sown i 
And see through the soft twilight still gleaming, 

And hear the light rustling of footsteps once more, 
There lulled by the muses in slumber are dreaming, 

We ramble agair on Eden's sweet scented shore. 

Hope beckons kindly to the day 

When we shall meet again, 
And to a breeze propitious 

Across the distant Main, 
Whose winds will fan the streaming sail 

Whose freight's endeared to me, 
And soothe the raging furies 

That sport the foaming sea. 

Hope on pinion of the dove 

Spreads its downy wing 
And in lifes deep sequestered shade 

Its sweetest notes will sing. 
With magic skill hope cheers us on 

O'er mountain, hill or plain 
And when we faint beneath our load, 

Hope gives us strength again. j 



•^^^Invocatio^.^^:- 



'Through days, weeks, months and years, 
We assbil our God with ardent prayers; 
We ask of him renewed supplies. 
Through grace divine, he never denies ; 
Some ask of him abundant store, 
Health and strength, the weak implore, 
The weary ask for rest in vain. 
The afflicted ask relief from pain. 

The rich all want increase of store 
Abundant still they cry for more 
Their wants increase with new supplies 
And louder still their prayers rise ; 
'Their souls are filled with fond delight 
When they're assured their dollar's right ; 
The saviours precept they adore. 
But still bright gold, is loved much more. 

'The poor they pray alone for bread, 
For peace beneath their humble shed, 
In squalor within their lonely cot, 
Bewail alone their hapless lot. 
The burden of the poor man's prayer, 
Is renewed supplies of homely fare. 
With sorrowing heart and tearful eye, 
-Ask God alone that plain supply, 

299 



300 ORIGINAL POEMS, 

His consort with a pallid brow \ 

Renews with him the sacred vow 

They join in one heartfelt refrain, 

Not f( >r earthly store or worldly gain ; 

But pray that love and grace divine 

May on their home in brightness shine-— 

Bright on their poor, but peerless home 

The star of love had always shone. 

A halo surrounds this homely sphere 
As God receives this honest prayer, 
'Twas small, but yet, the widow's mite 
Shown largely in the saviours sight ; 
The usurers prayers are not less sincere. 
He asks each day throughout the year, 
That God in kindness will unfold 
The way he may increase his gold. 

Thus he prays, morn, noon and night 
That God will make his way more bright,. 
And give his stocks a large increase. 
Thus lull his righteous soul in peaces. 
He prays that rents take upward strides, 
And taxes may take downward glides ; 
His goose that lays the golden Qgg, 
May spread herself another peg. 

His selfrighteous brow seems overspread, 
Not with the sweat that brings him bread,. 
That sacred dew ne'er there perspires 
That proceeds from man's upright desires. 
His stollid eye of iron hue, 
Ne'er's moistned with the teary dew 
His palsied heart and torpid soul, 
Are insensate as his God of gold. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 301 

He relentlessly despoils the poor, 
And with their toils increase his store ; 
With leech absorbing usury 
He saps the widoWs dovvery. 
The hapless orphan's heritage 
Incompletes this dusky page, 
Thus pages of the deepest dye, 
Fill up the usurers diary. 

I have but one God the usurer cries. 
And he within my coffer lies ; 
T worship him, morn, noon and night, 
I inean my gold and silver bright ; 
My bonds and mortgages untold, 
Find safety with my burnished gold ; 
This is the God that I adore 
And with my prayers do implore. 

Long, long years ago, in ages past, 
Each chose a God to suit his taste ; 
Thus Idolatry gave them a choice, 
Of gods in whom they might rejoice ; 
Those idols they through the year 
Worshiped like us — not less sincere. 
We chose that way that suits us best, 
The poet, too, among the rest. 



I now have left my cherislied home, 

My own dear native land, 
And left for aye its sparkling streams 

To tread a foreign strand. 
I leave my own, my native fields 

That I have rambled o'er, 
And launched upon the swelling wave^ 

To seek a distant shore. 

Adieu, adieu my native land, 

I mourn to part with thee, 
I go in quest of fortunes stores, 

Across the deep blue sea ; 
I ne'er expect to see such bloom 

As I am leaving here, 
Kor the sun upon a foreign land 

To shine so bright and clear, 

The carols of my native birds^ 

Their notes are sweet to me, 
I never expect to hear such strains 

Across the troubled sea. 
The ocean breeze may fan my brow. 

Out on the glassy main. 
The skimming seamew's tender notes 

May soothe my heart again. 

302 



LINUS TOWNSEND. , 30a 

But oh, sweet home, I'll turn to thee 

In the sad midnight dream, 
When our noble ship is stemming 

The midway ocean stream. 
When the dolphins, too, are dancing 

Upon the sportive wave, 
And the whale is lost in slumber 

Deep in its ocean cave. 

When our gallant ship is breasting, 

AVith sails extending wide, 
The undulating currents o'er 

The swelling ocean tide ; 
My thoughts will turn in tears away, 

Far o'er the briny foam. 
To meet again that weeping group 

In my deserted home. 

Whilst sleeping on their downy beds, 

Their dreams will follow me. 
While sailing o'er the coral shoals 

That lie beneath the sea. 
The cruel winds and tempests still 

Are drifting me away, 
And the tears I shed for those behind 

Commingle with the spray. 

The dread wake doth increase 

With each receding wave. 
The white foam spreading densely 

O'er the seaman's lonely grave : 
Down beneath the mighty deep, 

Within their coral tombs. 
The rolling waves wild rushing o'er 

With crests of ocean foam. 



304 ORIGINAL POEMS, 

They sleep amidst the coralines 

No cedars waving o'er, 
The deep blue waves their gloomy pall 

A dirge — the tempests dismal roar ; 
The mermaid's sing their requiems, 

Perched on the surging reef, 
Whilst myriads weave, from fossil down, 

The sparkling gemmy wreath. 

As o'er the heaving waves our ship 

Pursues her trackless way, 
I listless watch the light- winged gull, 

Float on the fleecy spray ; 
The dancing bubbles at her bow 

Pass swiftly by her side, 
And drift away in tinted trains 

Upon the swelling tide. 

Ere long by swelling sail's swift home 

We hear the surf's dull roar. 
And see the rising head-land loom 

Upon a foreign shore ; 
And in a few brief hours more 

Close by a new found strand, ^ 

And I away from my dear home j 

Now viewed a foreign land. \ 

I bade adieu unto the creAV, \ 

And the ship that brought me o'er, j 

Away from my own native land 

That I shall see no more. 
There calmly at her anchorage. 

That noble ship then lay 
And when I looked my last on her, 

I brushed a tear away. 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 305 

Tlien fraught with sad misgivings 

I sought my destiny — 
A lost and lonely wanderer 

On the home-stead of the free ; 
In passing o'er the mountains high 

And through its valley's roam, 
My heart again in sadness turns 

Unto my native home. 

There remains my wife and childrei^ 

And all tha^ts dear to me ; 
High mountains separate us now — 

The deep, blue swelling sea. 
But hope unfolds a secret charm 

That cheer's me on the way 
Points out a guiding star by night 

Its magnet rules the day. 



— ^^j^-t-gong.-^* 



o 



It was one Summer evening 

As I was rambling late, 
Brooding over misfortune 

And my unhappy fate. 

The fleecy clouds were driffcin 

Across a moonlit sky, 
When I espied a lovely maid 

As I was passing by. 

I over heard sweet melody, 

That filled the evening air, 
And plaintive as turtle doves 

Fell on my list'ning ear. 

She sang so sweetly plaintive ^j 

In notes so blithe and clear, \ 

Enraptured with its melody \ 

I unto her drew near. ] 

I courteously introduced myself j 

Unto this lovely maid, i 

Her countenance beamed with beauty i 

As the flowers before they fade ; J 

Her name was "blue eyed ISTancy" 

True to her gentle sex, 
Her auburn ringlets in clusters fell 

Around her snow white neck. 

306 



LINUS TOWNSEND. 307 

Her cherry lips enclosed 

Teeth like ivory white, 
And sparkling eyes like twinkling orbs 

In a cold frosty night. 

Beneath thick clustering branches, 

I there my homage paid ; 
Hushed was the music of her song 

Amid that lovely shade. 

In the umbrage of an elm, 

I took her on my knee, 
And there beneath the moon's pale beams 

Alone she sat with me. 

The cricket and katydid 

Chirped on every bough, 
The shrill notes of the whipporwill 

We heard in the glen below. 

Our cup of happiness was full — 

We thought to overflowing, 
Such bliss without the pale of paradise 

We thought was never known. 

The night was calm, a gentle breeze 

Sped on a Zephyr ous wing, 
And sweet cadence charmed the ear 

From an aolian string. 

The pale moon high o'er our heads 

On fleeting pinions of the night. 
The silvery wings on which it sped 

We did not mark its flight. 



i08 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The fc>wa3dng brandies o'er our liea< 3, 
Distilled the midnight dew, 

Unconscious in her fond embrace, 
As how the moments flew, 

And there with her at night alone, 
Deep in that shady grove, 

Descanting well that glowing them 1 ;: 
The secret art of love. 

At length we broke our dream of K Issn 
The weary night had flown, 

I gently locked her arm in mine 
And safely seen her home. 

The moon declining in the West, 
In the East the streaks of day, 

Upon the threshold of her home 
I tore myself awa}^ 



Oh thou hapless plaintive sufferer. 

Why breathe that mournful strain j 
Dost thou sigh, behind those bars 

To roam the fields again ; 
To speed once more beneath the shade 

Of the wide spreading grove, 
To skip among its leafy branches, 

And pipe the notes of love ? 

And dost thou long to shelter beneath 

The kind parental wing 
And the accents of a mothers love 

Still to thy memory cling ; 
Or would it restore a happy note 

To thy romantic song, 
To be roaming with the little group 

To which thou did'st belong ? 

To breathe the fragrance, of the flowers 

That grow wild upon the fields 
Or bask in the gentle zephyr 

That through the twilight steals ; 
Or when the sun sinks gently down, 

Into the shades of night. 
And your tiny wings are plumed again 

To make your evening flight. 

Into some leafy bower high, 

Where you may safely rest, 
Until the golden streaks of dawn 

Would gild the distant East ; 
When sylvan notes again would float 

Upon the dew^y breeze, 
And the sweet song of the grovy throng 

Would swell among the trees. 



310 ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Oh how pure and sweet those notes 

That fill the morning air, 
When the dews of night have wasted, 

Into the diamond tear ; 
Tliose glittering bars that now enclose 

The freedom of thy wing, 
They mar the music of the song 

That thou would^t sweetly sing. 

We all are prisoners selfwiiled — 

Behind some gilded bar 
And few there are amongst us, 

That don't the fetters wxar ; 
Enclosed within dark gloomy walls 

O'er which we can not see, 
And bound with weary galling chain," 

From which we would be free. 

But still we bear lifes dismal load 

With an apparent ease 
O'er sandy plains, and desert wastes. 

And rough and troubled seas ; 
Although the brilliant star of hope 

Still's gleaming from afar, 
The golden key is yet with -held, 

And we're behind the bar. 



EXFLJ^INT^T'OK.Y n^OTES- 



0- 

To satisfy tine probable curiosity of some of bis readers, tbe 
au-tbor bas endeavored, to explain tbe origin of a numbep of 
bis poems in tbe following manner. 

Thanatopsis. 7 

Was extemporaneously produced under the following 
circumstance. The writer was riding past a lone, neglect- 
ed graveyard. The graves of those who slept quietly 
there in oblivion, were covered with a confused growth 
of brier. Immediately within this sacred, lone and desert- 
ed boundary, a grave had just then been opened to re- 
ceive a pilgrim who had been travelling with the ' 'cara- 
van's of the earth" for nearly one hundred years, was this 
day destined to receive the hallowed benediction of the 
tomb ; the writer dismounts reverently from his horse 
and contemplates with awe, the solitary prospectus — fol- 
ding his paper against his saddle, he penned the above 
named effusion : 

The Mountain Scene. 14 

One of the first years of the author's married life was 
spent in a rocky vastness of the Allegheny Mountains, 
and there, amidst that sublime alpine scenery his "first 
born" breathed for the first time the life sustaining ele- 
mer'^s of this inconsistent world. And there, surrounded 
witV si'i'and mountain scenery, a strange fatality had de- 
termined, that he, with his young wife should spend the 
initiatory year of their marital existence. The happy ex- 
perience of that year appears with a bright halo compa- 
red with the man}^ dark years, since then rendered 
so by the sad circumstances that have been insinuating 
themselves into the pages that are making dark the se- 
quel of the authors history. This poem was written when 
the author was prefacing the brightest pages of his his- 
tory — on the eve of bidding adieu to scenes and circum- 

311 



?12 JtLXFLANA TOE Y NOTES. 



stances that had contributed to make happy at least one 
period of his life. We refer to the Shade, whose bright^ 
purling waters we recall with emotion the glorious evan- 
escent scenes of our childhood would be saharra's if it 
was not for some sweet oasis that wended its sparkling 
way through those never to be forgotten Paradisean scenes. 

The Lone Retreat. 64 

We will not attempt to render an apology or account 
for the presence of this erratic poem, but we will by way 
of extenuation, refer the reader to one of those beautiful 
episodes of heathen mythology, where the lone traveller 
in the dark shades of the night is surprised at the sud- 
den appearance of a beautiful, brilliant light in the dis- 
tance, and in its immediate vicinity is heard the soft rap- 
turous and enchanting strains of music — He is at once 
irresistibly drawn into the vortex of its influence. By 
the wiered rays of light, and bewildered with the sweet, 
Euphoneous Siren accompaniment, he yields uncons- 
ciously to its sweet empyrean charms, and imperceptibly 
he follows the transient and delusive phantom and be- 
fore he is aware of the sad consequences of his temerity 
he is plunging into the quick-sands of some treacherous 
morass ; then the gaudy evanescent light grows dim and 
the sweet, inspiring strains grow weak, or entirely cease;, 
he flounders in despair, and in dire agony he cries for 
assistance. The only response to his piteous appeal is a 
scornful derisive laugh ; or again he finds himself tremb* 
ling on the brink of some fearful precipice, clinging to 
the frail and yielding vines for support, momentarity ex- 
pecting to sink into the yawning m^lstrom beneath. 
The foregoing myth is beautifully illustrative of many 
incidents that are actually occuring every day. 



EXPLANA TOR Y NO TE8. 313 



The Tear. 74 

A little waif of the authors came to him one day, with a 
tear resting upon each cheek, and a shade overspreading her 
countenance, indicating the presence of the cankering worm 
of sorrow preying upon the rose-bud of her young affections. 
He at once notified her mother of the sad approaches of this 
dire messenger of woe, and appeals to her sympathies in the 
above named stanza. Many a sad heart is made eloquent by 
the sad mien of an acrimonious tear, and many a midnight 
pillow is moistened by these excrescencies of a sorrowing 
heart. The stricken heart, sinking beneath the accumalating 
bur^^^ns of woe, seeks relief from the dire presence of its sor- 
row ni tears — that the human heart should receive mitigation 
in its accumulating woes, and its troubles made manifest, and 
momentarily relieved by being dissipated into crystalline 
tears — the gloomy atmosphere of sorrow that surrounded it ; 
We must admit it as a tacit recognition, as one of those ac- 
ceptable institutions that the designing hand of a merciful 
God has so bountifully bestowed upon man. 

The Lone Grave. 103 

This lone and isolated grave, the subject of this Elegy is sit- 
uated about one mile North-west of Spring Church post-office 
on the farm now owned by Samuel Orr, and is supposed to be 
the resting place of Mr. Clark, the original owner of the farm 
It appears from a traditionary account, collected by the au- 
thor from an old residenter and reliable citizen who was indi- 
vudually conversant with the early traditions of the neigh- 
borhood, that it is the veritable tomb of Mr. Clark. The spot 
was selected by himself long before his demise, in presence of 
a chosen few he summoned for thkt purpose when it was first 
pointed out to the authour, over fifty years ago, it was in a 
woods, surrounded by a paling; the paling had a bleached ap- 
pearance and had no doubt been standing there for a number 



314 EXFLANA TOR Y NO TES. 



of years. Its solitary presence awakened a secret curiosity in 
the youthful mind of the authour as to what could have in- 
duced Mr. Clark to have chosen this lone solitude as his final 
resting place. Since then the woods have all been cleared 
away, excepting two small saplings, one immediately at the 
head and the other at the foot of the grave. They were left 
by the kind and considerate hand of Mr: Cochran, a formei 
owner of the farm. Those saplings have long since devel- 
oped themselves into two sturdy oaks and are now the liv- 
ing inanimate monuments that mark 'the lone grave.' 
The imaginative never cease to comment upon the grave. 
Its secret insidious forebodings have ever been food for 
contemplation. The silent genius, that hovers over the 
sacred repository of the dead, points emphatically to an 
nnseen region, far, far beyond — and our adventurous and 
spirits seek in anticipation, the unknown confines of this 
mysterious domain, as we enter the gate of the lone quiet 
cit}^ of the dead. The presence of the mute emblems of 
mortality, as they stand speechless sentinels at marshalled 
intervals, along its verdant carpeted aisles, inspires with- 
in us sentiments, pure and disinterested, true and vir- 
tuous. We behold on either side the solemn tokens of 
the silent abodes of those, who were at one time thrilled 
by the same joyous emotions, animated by the same mo- 
tives, exercised by the same instincts, and instigated by 
the same sanguine pleasures of hopeful anticipations, 
that elated and electrified the vital energies of life. But 
now alas : silent tenants of the tomb, thus Ave pause 
amidst the sepulchral mansions of the dead, and hearken 
to the voiceless appeal of their reposing inmates. Here 
the reckless recognize a marked supremacy, and humble 
themselves in mute adoration before its silent throne, 
and quietly contemplates with awe the vast arena in 
which the tragedian retiring from the active stage of 



EXFLAJSfA TORY NOTES. 315 

life finds a peaceful abode. Here the political econoixiist 
beholds the grand triumphs of equality. Its glorious 
principals holding an ascendency, the rich and poor, the 
high, the low, without distinction of color or race, sleep- 
ing peacefully beneath its green grassy and humble 
pall. Here no proud houghty monarch flaunts his gol- 
den tiara, no cruel relentless tyrant sways his iron scep- 
tre over an oppressed and hapless people. But here si- 
lence has erected her ample throne, and wields her pas- 
sive sceptre o'er her countless thousands. Whilst thro- 
nes are crumbling to dust and proud nations are becom- 
ing extinct, and the archieves of their heraldric glor}^ is 
-sinking into oblivion, the mute Empress is filling her 
vast Empire with the seething caravans, from the retir- 
ing list of the decemanating nations around. 

The Author's last Request. 

This piece was written on one of those apparently predes- 
tined epigodes, that have made dark the pages of the author's 
history and no doubt were the sentiments that occupied his 
mind at that time. The palpably seeming indifference, or 
ingratitude manifested toward him at that time' by those who 
were immutably bound to him by the inseparable ties of con- 
sanguinity, and who had pieviously been the unrewarding 
.and conscious recipients of his favors, that they should so 
basely have deserted him in the sad hour of his adversity, 
saddened the author and made him feel deeply hurt. In- 
gratitude is one of the darkest passions that finds a place in 
the human heart, and unknown among the uncultivated, un- 
civilized red-men of the forest. A lamentable fact that of all 
the vices and failings, to which human nature is prone, there 
is none that has so strongly marked its debasement or made 
manifest its degradation, as the practice of ingratitude: For 
other vices and failings, reason may be able to "* ^^ a cause. 



316 EXPLANA TOR Y NO TES. 

but for this it must search in vain — That friendship should 
oe met with neglect and kindness with ingratitude; is human- 
ity's shame and man's disgrace. That this has been, the sad 
experience of the author is beyond a doubt, and that the 
basest ingratitude has been practiced upon him, has been en- 
graved upon a tablet that the corrosive influence of oblivion 
can never eiFace, and has been recorded bv the seraphic un- 
trenibling hand oi the recording angel with the indelible ink 
of Jehova on the immutable and eternal archives of time and 
Eternity. Truth will emblazon and brighten the pages of" 
history long after the debasing records of falsehood and in- 
gratitude is hushed in the vortex of oblivion. A few brief 
fleeting years, 'at best', and the author will claim the bene- 
diction of a solitary grave in the confines of some deep soli- 
tude, apart from the dull and delusive tombs of affinity, and 
still hopes that some kind hand may smooth the surface of 
his lone grave with the adjoining sod, so the curious may 
search in vain for the spot that covers the retired dust of the 
wronged and hapless author. 



The Priineval Forest. 143 

There Avas a time comparatively recent when this American 
continent, this spacious home of ours, this vast Empire of the 
free, this grand arena of civilization was without a moral in- 
telligence to contemplate its glorious sublimity. When its 
mountains, hills, valleys and plains were covered with an in- 
terminable forest, the almost impenetrable undergrowth, the 
lofty majestic timber, and the thick foliage rendered it a con- 
tinuous fastness, whilst the other three grand subdivisions of 
this terrestrial abode of man was replete with accumulated 



EXPLA NA TOBY NO TES. 317 

-experience, abounding in legendary lore, ensanguined with 
tradition, stereotyped editions of chronology, and the pages of 
their history's written complete, and long since stowed away 
in the dusty archives of time. Countless years had been en- 
gulfed in the ocean of Eternity and generation after genera- 
tion have quietly sank into oblivion. Nations have grown from 
an infantile to an adult condition, and have lived out their 
destiny and have yielded to the ruthless hand of time. The 
once supposed imperishable monuments erected to perpetuate 
the memories of those crowned heads who governed them 
have crumbled to dust, and nothing, save a mass of shapeless 
debris and broken columns remain to mark their A^aunted 
^eat of Empire. The Egyptian passed its Zenith ; the Pha- 
rao's filled their meed of glory ; the children of Israel served 
out their term of cruel seryitude and passed their forty years 
sojourn in the wilderness, obtained fall possession of the prom- 
ised land, built and rebuilt the city of Jerusalem — still the 
glorious American continent was unknown. For years and 
years the sun shed its eifulgent rays on the burnished domes 
of Carthage ; Rome nestled upon her seven hills in triumph ; 
•Greece, Athens and Sparta cradled the infantile sciences into 
the adult of perfection. Still this now devoted country of 
ours remained an unbroken forest ; the erratic breeze that fan- 
ned its forest-bound coast swelled no whitened canvass, nor 
transports freighted with civilized stores left their crested 
wakes within its peaceful havens ; and no fusilades echoed 
back their dire signals, save the deep-toned thunder from 
natures unfortified strong hold all was silent as the tomb, but 
the mysterious murmerings of the wiered wind the mighty 
forest crept down to the yerge, and stretched its ponderous 
outlines far over the swells of the restless tide — a primeval 
forest, seeking affinity with a trackless ocean. Spring would 
again and again return without the cheering reception of a civi- 
lized matinee, to inspire anew the bleak forest, to infuse a re- 



318 EXPLANA TOE Y NO TES. 

newed vitality into the inanimated and torpid woodland bow- 
ers — tipping again and again the nude branches with their 
wanton tinselled drapery ; to awaken the meandering brook 
and the purling rill, from their icy repose transporting its 
glad return on Zephyr's wings, arousing the sleeping flowers 
from the cold apathy of winter, with its balmy breath. The 
downy denizens of this wild panorama would form into con- 
certs to rehearse their grand "oratorio" and the slow drifting 
fleecy clouds would cast their dusty shadows upon the bur- 
nished head-lands, and the enchanted span of a gloriously tin- 
ted rainbow slowly receding would fade in the distance. This 
vast seclusion bathing in unseen grandeur, no eye to contem- 
plate its sublime beauty, but that of Eternal omnipotence its 
own mysterious Creator. Summer would accept the situation. 
upon the expiring term of his gifted predecessor and would 
feast upon the accumulated festive stores of Spring, and swel- 
ter beneath the umbrage of the profusely elaborated canopy 
of this wide spreading primeval forest. There he would re- 
pose listlessly his term of dominion without adding or dimi- 
nishing, a tint of the sacred work of His timid and aesthetic 
compeer. Next in order comes the changing autumnal link 
in this inevitable Scene, as though weary of listless impas- 
siveness yields the pliant sceptre into the chilly grasp of the 
ever ambitious autumn, who with the bold emphasis of a su- 
pernatural genius dispels the monotony that pervades the ver- 
nal season ; soon under the electrifying influence of his ma- 
gic touch this vast undulating sea of living green undergoes 
a visible and a saddening change. The aesthetic tints of 
Spring and the emerald hues of Summer give way to the plas- 
tic brush of autumn and a new act would appear upon the 
programme and each mountain bill, valley and plain would 
appear to vie with each other in regard to the change of cos- 
tume they would assume in the forthcoming contest. The 
downy chorister would change his notes from the sweet an- 



EXPLANA TORY NO TES., 31S 

thems of Spring to that of a mournful dirge ; the gentle ze- 
phyrs that fanned the gaudy bower of Spring and dallied 
with the blushing flower of Summer would yield to the frow- 
ning surly blasts of autumn ; the glorious sun would review 
this golden hued sublimity and scan with his declining rays 
the evenescent scene, then gently sink behind the western hor- 
izon into his burning bed. The sere and yellow leaf would 
disappear and cease to rustle beneath the snowy pall of win- 
ter — cold dismal lured winter, like a sub-police would arrest 
the sparkling brook and purling rill and chain them with his 
icy fetters. 

Dear Eula. 

The following lines were suggested by the birth of Eula 
Townsend, born April the eighth, eighteen hundred and 
seventy six. This little poem was written under the pre- 
sumption of the pre-existence of the immortal spirit. We 
claim with all ^'due deference" that the immortal spirit 
that animates and gives this body distinctive life, is im- 
mortal in its most comprehensive sense. God breathed 
into the clay out of which he had formed Adam, and 
thus man became a living soul. By the Eternal Creator 
infusing an immortal soul into the inanimate mass, it at 
once became a living moving susceptible intelligence; 
and after it had filled the destinies or complied with the 
divine purposes for which the Cre'ator had made it sub- 
servient, '' the spirit returns again to God who gave it." 
This beautiful idea or subject, (like many others, should 
never be subjected to controversy) the author do'nt wish 
to be understood in making these assertions to maintain 
an absolute prerogative in behalf of these views. 



<20 EXPLANA TOR Y NOTES. 

The Crucifi ion. 

This endeavor at paraphrasing this sublime subject, 
this effort at rendering it in verse will possibl}' be thought 
futile in the extreme ; but this is a deducive consideration 
we will leave to time, and the individual decree of the rea- 
der. A subject so full of vital importance, and possessing 
such prominent features and whose substance is so mani- 
fest, should certainly have long since become an axiom; 
but incomprehensibly remains still as much a subject of 
cavil and controversy as any other feature of ethics or 
theology at the present time. The apparent irreconcil- 
able deduction arrived at conclusively, in the minds of 
many, in regard to the divinity of our Saviour, has origi- 
nated a doubtful odium that appears at present, fixed 
immovable. It is not the object of this brief note to dis- 
pel those illusions, or remove those obstacles that have 
raised their bold presuming fronts,as unsurmountable bar- 
riers. We would prefer they would remain as monu- 
ments of individuality and folly. We should determine 
the kind of tree by its fruit and the' fruit of the tree by 
its adaptability to our wants. When our Saviour an- 
nounced his precepts to man, he proclaimed his divinity. 
His golden axiom of ''do unto others as you would that 
others should do unto you," is as fixed as governments, 
and types of man, and as immutable as time and Eterni- 
ty ^ The Dentist. 169 

This poem is no Utopian extract but a reality entirely 
divested of romance. The dentist is a living, moving 
animated being, and possesses the theoretical and piac- 
tical pre-requesite that makes his chosen profession a 
success, and holds an enviable reputation and position, 
and is surrounded and supported and receives the well 
deserved patronage of a large number of friends an^i ac- 
quaintances. Mr. William J. Cochran, occupies asr !;»• 
solicited and acceptable page in our poetical dxarj^, and 
as an expert, he has our uiire»»r^^ cong:ra t;;]^ jions. 



EXPLANATORY NOTES. 821 

A Relic of Old. 288. 

The above antiquated relic of the culinary department 
that has suggested the following lines was by the earnest 
solicitations of the author, presented to him by a highly 
esteemed aunt, who had become a sufferer, from chronic 
''Hepatitis," until partially aberrated, and remained in 
this lamentable condition with slight periodical exception 
until death relieved her suffering. The writer being anx- 
ious to obtain a keep-sake from her, as a special favor 
she gave him this old fashioned skillet. A highly prized 
piece of kitchen furniture she had daily utilized for long 
years ; and it had been a present to her when quite a 
child. This relic has rendered over a century's service, 
and has passed the routine of several generations and is 
now held as a cherished memento by the author. It will 
hold about three quarts, has three feet, and a long handle, 
and has altogether an antiquated appearance. 

Pooa? Jerry's Reward. 291. 

This splendid monumental wreck of our national mis- 
fortune spent the sequel of his life in the almost imme- 
diate presence of whom a stern reality had predestined 
for the purpose of making this touching record. ''Jerry-' 
the faithful old war horse, after terminating his military 
career and ceased to be an accessory in harvesting the 
sheaves of glory that had been sown and cultivated hy the 
reckless hand of political dissension, and had bloomed 
and ripened on the fertile fields of the sunny South, we 
repeat, had terminated his military glory, and the cruel 
and barbarous long-shanked bitted cavalry bridle was ex- 
changed for the less attractive and formidable, a quaker 
bit, and the war saddle with all its paraphernalia of hos- 
tile accompaniment were striped from his careworn back, 
the emaciated "Jerry" was turned over toplebean autho- 



322 EXPLANA TOR Y NO TES, 

rities, to hack out the miserable residue of his wretched 
life in toiling for the pittiful rations that finally brought 
down his gray hair in sorrow to the grave. We became 
acquainted with this unfortunate relic of the darkest epi- 
sode of American history immediatly after he had doffed 
the nodding plumes of the battle held and assumed the 
civil gear of the harpies in whose cruel clutches he had 
unfortunately fallen. In view of the noble services he 
had rendered his suffering country on the sanguine 
battle field, he was considered too much property for one 
man to own, or at least for one person to hold in his pri-^ 
vate possession — for any ordinary length of time. The 
stately "Jerry", during the few brief months of his re- 
tired civil life, blessed and made happy a number of per- 
sons who were sectional, or periodical owners. The fate 
that presided over this noble remnant of the battle-field 
seemed too peculiarly fiendish, and to make the last few 
days of the horses misery complete, he finally fell into 
the hands of a monstrosity with neither heart nor soul. 
This misnomer had been on exhibition all over the United 
States and England and had returned home by the land 
route in safety. We are constrained to say that this im- 
portant individual became his final owner, and at his 
cruel and rentless hands he met his fate ; in his bloody 
hands was held the fatal ax that crushed the faultless 
brain of the much to be lamented subject to this note and 
poem. The redoubtable "Jerry" had been long enough 
the property of this sanguine wretch, and had partaken 
sufficiently of his insipid rations to become prostrated un- 
der their influence. We happened unfortunately to be pas- 
sing at that inauspicious moment and beheld reluctantly 
the dying agonies of the fallen hero, and contemplated 
with extreme disgust a number of rapacious curs, who 
were awaiting anxiously the anticipated repast the strug- 



EXPLANATORY NOTE^. 



Z% 



gling sufferer would afford. Reader this picture is not 
overdrawn, and should not be treated with levity, but 
should enlist our sympathies, and commiseration. 




CONTENTS. 

Poem's followed by a "star" have explanatory note at end of book. 



All Interrogation Answered* 16 

A Decoration Memorial 38 

An Innate Genius Recognized 65 

A Tribute 73 

Autumn 86 

An Hour among the Tombs 93 

An Autograph 117 

A Farrago 124 

A Eequiem 143 

An Obsequie 145 

An Elegy *. 146 

A Christmas Poem 152 

Adieu to the Scenes of my Childhood 156 

An Ode to July 159 

An Elegy , 164 

August 167 

Autumn 174 

An Epigram „ 177 

An Epigram 182 

An Elegy , 183 

Assassination of Garfield 209 

.Esthetic Scene 215 

An Advertisement 219 

An Autograph 225 

A Day-dream 228 

Autumn 230 

A Mother's Lament 254 

AEelicofOld* • 288 

A Song 306 

Breaking my Inkbottle 166 

Crispin 71 

Death of an Invalid 163 

Death of an Infant 188 

324 



CONTENTS. 325 

Bear Eula* 264 

Disgust 253 

Expiring Bay. Elopement 147 

Edith A Cowan 242 

Eavorite Gate , 157 

Entile Moment 162 

From the Land of the Czar 169 

Eai|h, Hope and Charity 295 

Hibernal Clouds 226 

Hope 234 

Harvest Home 236 

Immensity 62 

Invocation 299 

Jimmy and Gracy Orr 258 

Life's Beserted Road 69 

Long Years ago 191 

My Mother's King 48 

Memory of Cecelia Jackson 97 

My Faithful Eriend 212 

My own Native Stream 232 

Novice in Pursuit of the Hygeian Goddess 56 

New Year, 1883 63 

Obituary of Pearl C. Burket 30 

Obituary 35 

Obituary of Hugh Blair 52 

Obituary of Mrs. Wilhelmine Jackson 99 

Obituary of Jimmy Orr 114 

Ode to May.... 130 

Ode to June , 154 

Obituary of Henry Porter 168 

Obituar}" of Mrs. Jennie We.sv 179 

On the Beath of a Mother 184 

Omega , 238 

On Worms 240 



326 CON-TENTS. 

Obituary of Eobert Moore 259 

Prospection 9 

Party Song — Democratic 118 

Party Song — Republican 121 

Proverbs 178 

Poor Jerry's Reward* 291 

Retrospection 11 

Remembered still 207 

Spring 79 

Summer 82 

S-hoddy 106 

Saltsburg Militia Company 263 

Superstition 265 

To a Child 7 

Thanatopsis* 8 

The Tomb of little Nell 13 

The Mountain Scene* 14 

The Dark side. A Pasquinade 17 

The Dreary Moor of Life 29 

The Kiskiminetas 32 

The Sere and Yellow Leaf. 36 

The Fatal Encounter 41 

To the Air of America 42 

The Morning Walk 45 

Tribute to Mrs. Gray 53 

The Enchanted Grove 58 

The Alarmed Partridge 60 

The Lone Retreat* 64 

The Tear* 74 

To the Public 75 

The Migratory Birds 77 

The Twilight Scene 100 

Tribute to Omnipotence 102 

The Lone Grave* 108 

The Author's Last Request* 110 



CONTENTS. 327 

The Donated Eing 112 

The Happy Twain 129 

Tribute to Apollo Bridge 134 

The New Year , 136 

The Robin 138 

The Little Bark 140 

The Delinquent Husband Eebuked 141 

The Frogs 148 

The Comet of 81 150 

Tlie Exhiliarating Breeze 160 

The Secluded Cot , 161 

ThePeddlar 171 

To Isabel 175 

The New Bridge 176 

The Tear Drop 180 

The Widow's Fate 181 

The Barber's Request 185 

The Doomed 186 

To the Blind 189 

The Lingering Ray... 208 

The Road of Life 210 

The Adventure of a Day ..220 

The Fleecy Clouds 224 

To Mamie 231 

The Primeval Forest* 243 

The Sublime and Ridiculous 248 

The Journ 3yman Tailor 255 

Tribute to Mamie Jackson 257 

Th3 Haunted Vale 2G0 

The Dentist* 269 

The Post-Boy 272 

The Crucifixion* 280 

The Emigrant 30 i 

The Wounded Bird 309 



:328 



CONTE.\TS. 



Ula's Vat Eabbit ^32 

Villie and Fanny Oj-i- 116 

Winter >. ^o 

A V i n t e r ' s 1 ■ h r a 1 1 223 



4 



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